Perfection's Facade
by gazebows
Summary: [AU] Suze thought Paul Slater was perfect. But as she inevitably finds out, perfection has its price, and it’s high. Perfection has its place, and it’s definitely not in her life. Perfection has its consequences, and the scars it leaves aren’t temporary.
1. A Dream Come True

Disclaimer- I own absolutely nothing.

Summary- AU Nothing cuts deeper than one image of perfection turning out to be imperfect after all. The only thing that can heal Suze's scar is someone else's love. She finds that waiting for her in Carmel, CA. The only glitch is that she doesn't want it.

A/n- Contrary to what it may seem like… I am not a new fanfic writer. I have written Mediator fanfiction before (I just haven't updated them in, ahem, a year). So I have no excuses if this sucks. Except that I wrote it after the worst cross country practice ever. Does that count as an excuse…?

This is a two-part story, dedicated to Lindsay, aka Miss Strawberry-Shortcake01. Love you, Linds. :)

P.S. This is a Jesse/Suze fic.

* * *

****

**Part One: Paul Slater**

**Chapter One: A Dream Come True**

I spent all period in English staring at the back of Paul Slater's head.

When the bell rang, I didn't even notice. It wasn't until my best friend Gina stuck a manicured hand directly in front of my line of vision, blocking my sight of Paul's movements as he got out of his seat, gathered up his stuff, and left. All done with a gracefulness and a certain degree of hotness that I never knew was possible from a teenage human being.

I turned to Gina.

"What?" I asked, annoyed that she interrupted right in the middle of one of my Slater fantasies, this one involving Paul and I walking hand in hand, up every single one of the 1665 steps of the Eiffel Tower. When we finally reached the top, we both sat down, and he gingerly caressed my face in his large, warm hands, and his face loomed closer and closer, then…

Well, then the image was besmirched with the likes of a hand in my face, a faintly ringing sound in my ear, and Paul Slater walking out of the room, hands in his pockets, a sexy grin on his face, oblivious that he had been the object of a certain someone's fantasies only moments before.

"I thought you had gotten over him this summer," Gina said as I quickly gathered up my things and stuffed them into my JanSport.

"Nope. My feelings for him haven't altered or diminished one bit."

Gina looked at me, obviously exasperated. "You've gotta move on, Suze. You've been in lust with him for a year already, and that's eleven months too long. It's a new school year. It's time for you to find someone else to be obsessed with. Someone who's actually _reachable_."

She emphasized the last word as we walked out the door. Immediately, my eyes roamed the halls, searching for one more glimpse of the one that had occupied my thoughts all 76 days of my summer.

"Paul is too reachable," I said, still desperately trying to find him in the sea of high schoolers, going out of their way to greet one another. I had no one to greet, since Gina was my one and only friend here in New York. "True love knows no limit. Just because he's a jock, and I'm, well, not a cheerleader, that doesn't mean it can't happen."

Gina was just getting ready to retort, when I shushed her because _finally_, my eyes had found utopia and my body was walking toward it.

"You're deranged, you know that?" She muttered as she walked a few steps behind me, albeit reluctantly. "He would never like you. Popular guys like him either date popular girls or those who wouldn't mind being his call girl, his lady of the night. You two have been in the same classes last year for all a hundred and eighty days. Yet has he paid any attention to you at all? Has he even bothered to talk to you, except to ask to borrow a pen, or paper, or whatever? Has he-"

"Shut up," I said out of the corner of my mouth, and then plastered a smile on my face since we were approaching Paul and a few of his friends.

I was just getting ready to say "hi" or something equally original when I heard one of the guys he was with utter something that froze me in my tracks.

"Dude, you know that Suze Simon chick? She was staring at you the whole class, man. She couldn't take her eyes off of you."

To which Paul replied with a, "Really?" He sounded amused and thoughtful at the same time.

"Oh. My. God." I whispered as Gina and I power-walked the other way, ASAP. "Now Paul's going to think I'm some kind of psycho who has a sick obsession with him and stalks him every chance she gets."

"That's because you are," Gina sounded annoyed, like she always does when I freak out over someone she considers trivial. "I don't even get why you like him. You two have absolutely nothing in common. He's a superficial, shallow jerk who only cares about getting laid."

I almost crashed into the wall with a Homecoming poster pasted on it, but Gina grabbed my arm and steered me the right way at the last minute.

"No he's not," I said in response to her calling Paul superficial, shallow, and slutty. (So not the man of my dreams!). "I know it seems that way to other people… but Gina, I truly believe that within his nonchalant exterior, there is a deep soul who genuinely cares about the world and other people. There has to be."

She glared at me as if I were touched in the head. "We'll see about that. After all, he now knows you like him."

Which isn't really true, since I love him.

* * *

That night, I dreamed I was Winnie Foster, and he was Jesse Tuck. 

That may be the result of me watching Tuck Everlasting three times before I went to sleep.

Tuck Everlasting. My sole other obsession besides Paul Slater.

* * *

_Winnie: If I went to the Eiffel Tower, I would take one of those elevators._

_Jesse: Not with me you wouldn't. You'd take off your shoes and walk up every single solitary step._

_

* * *

_

All my life, all I've ever really wanted was a love like that of Winnie and Jesse. Unadulterated, genuine, and everlasting. A love that's obvious to anyone, even mere strangers, passing by who happened to gaze into the window of their life. A love that knows no boundaries, shows no mercy, and takes its victim on a soul-searching ride. A love that has the ability to open up eyes and souls, to filter out the tainted and pour in the pure. A love that can change one person's life in a matter of seconds.

A love that is **perfect**.

The only person who I could envision myself with, sharing that perfect love, is Paul Slater.

I don't care what Gina says; Paul is the mirror-image of perfection. Curly hair that outdo the sun in goldeness… chiseled cheekbones that can so easily slice my heart in half… deep, dark eyes that has forever captured my soul… flawless nose, crimson lips, and tan skin… and a body that could not possibly be real.

His perfection does not limit to his physical attributes. Even though some may deem him arrogant, or superficial, or debaucherous, I know that is all a façade. Paul isn't like that deep inside. Maybe it's not perceptible to everyone, but I _know_. I know that's not the real him. I know he isn't a typical jock whose only worries are girls and sports. I know that if he's in an environment with intelligent, authentic people, his actions and words would greatly differ than when he's surrounded by his phony "friends."

All in all, I know Paul is true. I know he has a heart. I know he has a personality. I know he's my other half, my only hope at happiness. I know he's…

Standing right in front of me?

I almost dropped my English and Geometry book on his head, I was so surprised at seeing him. Just standing there.

_In front of me. Looking at me. As if he wants to say something. _

As luck would have it, the bell rang at exactly that instant. Paul shrugged, and smiled at me, and then walked to his class. It took me a second to get over the fact that Paul Slater actually looked at me straight in the face, much less gave me the gift of one of his to die for smiles. Then, I followed after him, since we were in the same class. As usual.

"Hi Gina," I said as I slipped into the desk beside her. "What's up?"

She immediately knew something was fishy; that was made obvious by the fact I had a goofy grin -a no-no for Suze Simon- on my face.

"Spill, Simon. What happened?"

I was going to answer her. I was going to give her a blow-by-blow account of Paul Slater and my encounter while Mrs. Connealy did the usual early class rituals: roll call, homework, etc.

Except just when I opened my mouth, a ghost materialized at the front of the room. An inch away from Mrs. Con.

Judging by the long curtain of black hair, the ghost was a girl. Judging by her size and face, she was no older than twelve.

I watched in horror as she started walking down the aisles, examining the people, who were either passing notes or staring dully up at the ceiling. I was scared out of my wits that someone was going to accidentally touch her, to go _though_ her, and the girl, seeing that horrific act, would start screaming bloody murder.

I bit the end of my pen, willing her to find a new interest outside and dematerialize. I was watching her movements so intently that it took me awhile to feel a pair of eyes boring into my head.

I turned. And saw Paul Slater, sitting two rows in front of me, three rows to my right diagonally, staring at me staring at the ghost girl…

…and almost choked on my pen.

* * *

The ghost disappeared after about ten minutes of Mrs. Con's droning voice, explaining the importance of the play Romeo and Juliet. For once, a boring teacher came to be useful. 

"Okay, Simon," Gina said as the bell rang, signaling the end of yet another English class. As we walked out the room and toward our lockers, I nervously kept my head down, avoiding any eye contact with her or anyone else. "What was with you in class? First you seemed like you were seeing a ghost, your face was so pale and twisted up. Then you stared at your textbook for the rest of the period, instead of staring at a certain someone else like you always do. What is up with you today?"

We were at our lockers by then. I watched as Gina twirled her combination. I wrung my hands in nervousness (I always thought that that "wringing your hands" was just a stupid form of expression and that you couldn't actually do it… until I was doing it myself).

"Nothing. Nothing at all," I said, my voice wobbly. I started to work on my combination too, but I wasn't seeing the numbers. All I was seeing was Paul's disconcerted expression as he looked at me in class. I could just imagine my own expression: as if I were seeing my dead father or Santa Clause bouncing around, a few months early for his usual visit.

"Look, Suze," Gina started to say. "If this is about _him_ again, then I'm going to-"

I never did found out what the threat was. Because at that moment, Paul appeared behind us.

I stared at him. Gina did too. But I'm sure it was for a different reason than mine.

"Suze," Paul said, grinning at me lazily, as we were old friends speaking for the zillionth time, instead of mere classmates who had never spoken to each other before. "A word, please?"

I gulped.

Gina slammed her locker shut, gave me one last glare, and stealthily walked away.

Paul and I were alone.

I hugged my books to my chest and looked at him, straight into those mesmerizing eyes. Right then, I felt as if he really were Jesse Tuck, a reflection of the person I want my soulmate to be.

Paul didn't waste any time getting to the point. Leaning against Gina's locker, staring at me and focusing all his attention on me for the first time since, well, _ever_, he said: "You could see her, couldn't you."

A chill ran through me. My arms turned numb, and my binder fell from the fragile grip of my fingers. Looseleaf papers splattered all over the floor.

Horrified and utterly humiliated, I bent down to pick them up, my face completely crimson. For some reason, my fingers lost the ability to grasp. They were shaking.

A shadow fell across floor.

_Don't look, Simon. Stare at the floor for all infinity if you have to._

I never listen to logic. Of course I looked.

His face, only inches from mine… His eyes… so deep, so clear, boring into mine…

It's amazing how two pools of blue can hypnotize me. How they can make me feel safe, loved, vulnerable, and flawless at the same time. How they can make me feel as if for the first time ever, someone viewed _me_ as **perfect**.

I found it hard to breathe. And we weren't even doing anything except having a staring contest.

Even _that _was too much for me.

I was just getting ready to break off our connection when his hands landed on my chin. Strong, sturdy, gentle fingers clasped around my face, caressing my cheek. My mouth dropped open, and then closed. I closed my eyes and told myself to breathe.

_Just breathe…_

When I opened them back up again, Paul was still there. He hadn't moved away, he hadn't withdrew his hands, he hadn't stopped looking at me unlike any way anyone has ever looked at me before.

Everyone around me faded away. It was only us in a sea of notebook papers.

My first thought was that he was going to kiss me.

My second thought was that the position we were in, his hands on my cheek, our eyes locked together, our souls fusing into one…

…It was a should-have-been moment for Winnie and Jesse.

* * *

Paul never did kiss me. I don't think he was going to in the first place. Even if he _was_, which he _wasn't_, he didn't get the chance to anyway. 

Because ghost girl decided to pop in for another visit.

When she suddenly materialized several inches away from Paul, I jumped back and managed to smash my butt against my locker. Hard.

Paul turned to see what had startled me. GG was still there. When Paul turned back towards me, she dematerialized.

"You CAN see her."

The bell rang. Paul Slater stood up and walked away, and did not once glance back.

* * *

All I thought about on the afternoon walk home with Gina was that Paul and I definitely had one thing in common. 

We're both mediators.

And just how rare is that? It totally proves we're meant to be. We can breed Mediator babies, for God's sake.

I didn't pay attention to anything Gina was saying. All I knew was that she was talking, and I wasn't listening. And that she was pissed off by the time we reached my apartment.

"Suze, snap out of it," Gina warned me.

Ignoring her demand, I asked if she wanted to come up.

"Can't. Another time."

No explanations. Just a "Can't." I stared at Gina's retreating back and wondered how our friendship turned into this.

_Can't. Another time…_

* * *

"Mom, I'm home!" I called out as I opened the door. 

There was no need. She was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.

Waiting for me.

"What is it?" I asked tensely, taking a seat in front of her. Worst case scenario: Dad died. Again.

Upon seeing my apprehensive expression, Mom laughed. "Relax, honey. It's good news!"

Good. Right. Sometimes, my mother and I have different definitions for the word "good."

I didn't say anything. I was afraid she was getting transferred somewhere, and we were going to have to move, and I would have to leave Gina behind, not to mention Paul…

Not that either of them seemed too fond of me at the moment. But I'm just saying. They're the only two persons living in New York is worth for.

"Susie…" She suddenly looked ten years younger. Her face stretched out into a smile, one that is playful, excited, and nervous at the same time. "…I'm getting married."

I was grateful I wasn't having coffee like her right then. Because I'm sure if I were, I would've choked to death.

* * *

After the wedding, we were moving to Carmel, California, where her husband-to-be, Andy lives. Mom told me it's sunny place with palm trees. I didn't believe her. 

Why should I? She's dragging me away from New York, the place where I was born in, raised in, and grew up in. The place where my best friend is. The only place that'll ever feel like home to me.

The place where the object of my true affection resides.

_Forget about him for a minute_, I chided to myself as I stood in front of Gina's door, trying to bring myself into ringing the doorbell. _He can't be as important as your best friend. He's just a guy. He is. Right now, Gina matters more…_

I rang the bell. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Gina appeared.

We stared at each other for some moments. Then, involuntarily, I burst into tears and fell into her arms.

* * *

The next morning in homeroom, I was rereading my Chemistry notes when Gina slipped into the seat beside me. Immediately, I closed my binder and turned to her, willing my eyes to stay dry. 

Nothing of me is ever obedient.

Gina gripped my shoulders sympathetically, trying in vain to soothe me. I could see that she wanted to cry again too.

"I can't believe you're moving," She whispered.

I sniffled and turned away. I couldn't even make it till the end of homeroom without smearing my mascara, could I?

I was contemplating how much Carmel is going to suck when I heard a voice behind me.

"Wait. You're moving?"

Paul Slater. Paul Slater sits behind me in homeroom. That voice, syrupy, low, and lathered with feelings for once…

I turned around. "Yeah. My mom's getting married and we're moving to California."

Just then, the teacher came in and hushed us as we listened to the morning announcements. I began drawing on the edges of my chem notes, toning the principal out…

…While trying to not get too excited over the fact Paul Slater seemed to actually care whether I stayed within his presence or not.

Just as the bell was almost to ring, a note slipped onto my desk. From directly behind.

Gingerly, I opened it.

**_Don't move._**

I turned and stared at him as the bell rang and everyone else got up and left. Gina cast a look at Paul and me and left also.

"I'm sorry you're leaving," He said, sounding genuinely sad. Then he got up and left the room.

I don't know what confused me more. The fact that Paul Slater would really care if I left, or that in the moment our eyes were fused, I knew I would do _anything_ to erase the sadness from his voice.

* * *

From that day until the weekend I went to California for my mom's wedding, Paul would stop and say "hi" to me whenever we happened to pass each other in the halls and in class. 

Even though there is nothing romantic about a "hi", the fact that it came from Paul, whom I've been obsessing and fantasizing over for a year, made it the highlight of my days.

Sometimes, when I ask a question in class to no one in particular, he would answer it. Even though he so didn't have to.

If I didn't know any better… well, I would think that he actually likes me back.

But I do know better. I do know that in an environment filled with bimbos, jocks, and people who only cared about flawless skin or Monday Night Footday or whatnot, his true self would never emerge. He wouldn't have the chance to realize that we make the perfect couple.

He would never have the opportunity to finally open his eyes and see that he's Jesse Tuck. And that I'm Winnie Foster. And that together, we're two halves to a whole.

However, I still hoped and looked forward to his "hello's".

Once, a couple of days after he found out I was leaving, he stopped at my locker and asked one question: "When?"

I immediately knew what he meant.

"After Christmas."

* * *

_Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc_… I couldn't believe my mother married someone with kids who bare uncanny resemblance to three of the seven dwarfs. 

_Only my mother would do that_, I thought as I sipped my coffee.

I was sitting by myself at a Starbucks near the school. I had just gotten back from California for my mom's wedding. Andy was okay, even though his sons were definitely not. They were either a druggie (in Sleepy's case), a man-slut (in Dopey's case), or a total brainiac who seems incapable of stopping himself from spouting interesting -but somewhat useless- facts (in Doc's case).

I was thinking about how Sleepy caught me outside the chapel, sneaking my first -and last- cigarette, when I felt, rather than saw, someone taking the seat opposite to me.

I glanced up from my cappuccino. There, directly in front of me, uninvited, sat Paul Slater.

"Hey," He nodded at me in greeting.

"Um," I said.

"You don't mind, do you?" He asked, as the realization that I might have wanted to sit there and drink coffee, alone, with no one to talk to and just drown my sorrows in a black pool of coffee grounds had just dawned on him. "I can leave if you'd rather be here by yourself."

"Um," I said again, still not really believing that he actually chose to sit with me and drink coffee when he could've being doing a number of other things, including, but not limited to, "screwing girls." (In Gina's words, not mine. I personally don't believe he is that immoral.)

"No, it's okay," I coughed out as I saw him trying to stand up. "I was just surprised, is all."

Paul leaned back in his chair and grinned. As he did, I noticed the top part of his shirt was unbuttoned, and I was rewarded with a view of his thin chest hair.

_Swoon_.

"So you can see ghosts, huh," He said, training his gaze on me.

I was a bit disconcerted, since I expected him to ask about the move again. But if he wanted to Mediator-talk, that's fine with me.

"Yes," I said casually, trying to pry my eyes off his tanned chest. "I was born with the ability."

Paul nodded and took a sip of the coffee he had brought with him. "Me too. You're a Mediator?"

"Yes," I answered. "It's a pain in the butt."

This caught his attention, all right. "Really? Why?"

I brought my eyes into the same level as his. "Do you really want to know?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I asked, didn't I?"

Therefore, I spent the next half hour explaining to him Susannah Simon's 100 list of reasons why Mediating sucks and ruins your life.

I don't know whether or not Paul enjoyed listening to me rambling on and on about how I'm forced to help prima donnas who haven't got one iota of a clue, the length I go to to assist ghosts, how I'm always getting dragged off by police officers in the middle of the night, how it ruins at any chance I might have at a normal life, and so on.

But I enjoyed telling them. More accurately, I enjoyed telling them to Paul, since I knew he would understand. He was one of my kind. Surely, he encounters the same types of problems I do on a daily basis. Surely he knew exactly what I was talking about.

After I was done, Paul shook his head and laughed. "Do you really let Mediating interfere with your life that much?"

The question unnerved me. I thought he was going to agree or something. "I just want to help them. That's what we're supposed to do, isn't it? Help them the best we can so they can move on?"

"That's where you're wrong," Paul said calmly, looking at me and wearing an expression I didn't recognize. "You help them in the easiest and most convenient way for you. Otherwise, if you listen to all the bullshit that come out of their mouth and try to be their slave, you'd be letting them run your life."

I blinked. What he said actually made sense. But it just seemed a bit, I don't know, _selfish_. I was always taught to use the altruistic route as often as possible.

When I courageously pointed this out to him, he just laughed again and said, "Well, then I guess I'm selfish."

And he laughed again. The sound was somewhat chilly, since the humor in there only took up 1 percent.

After that, the conversation just kind of died. We sipped our coffee, lost in our own worlds. I don't know what Paul was thinking of, but myself… well, I was lost in yet another Jesse/Winnie fantasy, where Paul and I were the players.

* * *

_Winnie jumped off a big rock, straight into the waterfall. She soon started to freak out because she can't swim._

**_"JESSE!"_**

_He captured her in his arms and soothed her. _

_"Sssshh, I gotcha." _

_"How does it feel?"_

**_"It feels wonderful. I'm weightless."_**

_"That's because we're carrying you, the water and me. We're both carrying you."_

**_"Don't let me go!"_**

_"There's not a chance of that, Winnie Foster. I'm never gonna let you go."_

* * *

"Suze? Hello, Suze?" 

I didn't notice Paul was calling for me until his hand was in my face.

"Oh, um, sorry," I said, blushing as I got up along with him. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted me to walk you home." He said, amusement dipping into his tone.

I glanced outside. The sun was going down, casting the city in a deep, orange light.

"Sure."

Obviously, I was nervous. I didn't know whether I was supposed to make conversation with him again, or walk alongside him, or whatever. All I knew was that I was grateful and sorrowful at the same time that my house was only two blocks from that Starbucks.

"We're here."

We both stopped. I crossed my arms in an attempt to prevent them from fidgeting.

"Well?" Paul asked. "Aren't you going to invite me up?"

"Invi… Invite you up… right. Right," I nodded my head vigorously. "Right. Come on up."

As we both rode the elevator upstairs, I had to tell myself, yet again, to just _breathe_. This was one of the times when I'm in the presence of Paul Slater, my heart beat skips, and I have trouble with breathing through my nose or mouth.

Paul suddenly hit the button for the top floor.

"What're you doing?"

He grinned one of those grins that makes me want to melt into a puddle at his feet. "You'll see."

I did. And it was the most gorgeous, magnificent sight I have ever witnessed in my existence.

But first, when we got off, we had to climb a set of stairs and then a little ladder, which led up through a trapdoor at a ceiling, which led to the roof of the building.

There, the view that greeted us was absolutely stunning.

Gold, mixed with orange, mixed with scarlet, and all the colors in between. Streaks of the tints and shades of them lined the sky. The picture, the _beauty_ that was created is indescribable.

"Wow." The word escaped my lips like a silvery breath.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Paul snaked up behind me, and then stood beside me. "I love watching sunsets. It's a normal part of the world, a beauty that doesn't cost any fee to see. I would watch them every day if I could."

_I would too,_ I said silently.

No wonder so many couples watch sunsets together. No wonder it brings them closer to each other. The beauty of it makes you want to curl up into a ball with your partner, where you feel safe and loved. It makes you feel as if all your worries had faded away, leaving behind only happiness. It makes you feel lighthearted, carefree, and for the first time since ever… _perfect. _

I for one did. With the sunset enveloping me, wrapping me in its warm and safe blanket… I felt like me. I felt like I belonged. I felt all parts of myself, my mind, body, soul, and spirit, were finally at peace with one another, making me whole. Perfect. At last.

What made the _situation_ perfect, completely and totally, was Paul's arms around me as we both gazed outward in the same direction. It was his lips on mine, so soft and tender, that it was impossible for me to not give him what he was giving me, to not hand over everything I've got. As our tongues explored new territory, as our hands roamed in places that were foreign and new, I felt my heart rising up and up, pulling my body -and Paul's- along with it. I felt, as we were floating up, the sensation that birds were singing right in my ear, and angels and fairies had somehow given me their glimmery and magical wings. As Paul and I sat in the middle of the sky, on top of the sunset, on top of the _world_, I finally felt my skin unwrapping itself from my body and floating away, exposing my soul to the only person I would ever want it to be shown too.

I felt our true love in the kiss. I felt the pureness of it. And I didn't have to shift into my dreamland to know that this was one love that was going to last forever.

I don't know when our lips parted. I don't know when we stopped tasting each other. All I know is, when our souls were joined into one, I was really and truly happy at last.

It was a dream come true. A fantasy come to life.

* * *

A/n- I'm really sorry for the OOC-ness of this, everyone. But it's set in an alternate universe, so… things are going to be different. 

One part done, three more to go.

If you've already bothered to read this, then won't you PLEASE review?


	2. Tongue: The Musical

Replies:

**nikki007**- This update is really soon. Trust me. The only sooner I've updated this year is, uh, a month. _:blushes:_

**nebulia**- I gather no one reading this is a Paul/Suze fan, for which, I'm kind-sorta glad. (Because of what happens in this and the next chapters). And it IS Suze/Jesse. Even though it doesn't seem like it so far…

**Arianna Sunrise**- Jesse will come! Soon! Just not… in-this-chapter soon. But I promise, the final three parts will be filled with nothing but him. For obvious reasons, as the end of this and the next parts will reveal. :)

**UnangelicHalo**- Well, I think Linds is secretly kind of freaked with all the references to her. But she said she's not mad. And she _should_ listen to someone, if not me. Her obsession is, while amusing, very depressing to her palies.

**BillThePonyLlama**- Oooh, you sound like you like clones. Me too! I voluntarily wrote a paper on them and their rights last year. Which I got the lowest grade I've ever gotten on a writing assignment before. (I was sad, but someone told me to get over it. Just in a harsher phrase than that. LOL.) The sunset thing is weird… freaky… but hun, why were in googling sunsets in the first place? _:cough: _I hope it's not why I think… some people say I have a pervy mind… Pfft… I SO DO NOT. I think I'm going to google sunset soon myself. Teehee. :D

**DarkenedStar**- Really, Cherriey? REALLY? It's actually descriptive enough? In the past, people have told me I'm too descriptive. By chance or choice, I don't know, but I thought this story totally lacked details. Thanks for clearing it up! Hehe.

**Clavel**- Oh Clavie. At first, I was going to say, _kidding-ish_, "Of course I rock. I know I do." But then I realized I haven't got a clue how or why or when I do. P.S. Does the MotU thing have to do with Star Wars, by any chance?

**Kimou**- Aw, I'm sorry Jesse wasn't in it. I have divided this story into six parts so the first three will be all PAUL, and the last three will be all JESSE. I really hope you all stick around long enough for Jesse. _:tears:_

**greatmutato**- Thank yous. :D

**x O te amo x O**- You love Tuck Everlasting? But you're not, you know, 100 percent obsessed with it, are you? And do you like the ending? Or are you like _a certain someone else I know_, who concocted this totally inane (not that I would ever say that to her. KIDDING. About the inane part, lol), yet really, really sweet, and not all impossible alternate ending for it. You should talk to her. She absolutely loves any and everyone who shares her sole movie obsession. One of her hideouts is the Mediator in General forum at MCBC. You will have NO trouble recognizing her, on account of the fact under almost all of her posts, there is a TE quote. (Which I'm convinced is half because she wants to drive us nutty).

A/n- Thank you all so so SO much for the reviews. I seriously thought I was going to get like, two or something. But you all have made me incredibly happy. Thank you!

* * *

Chapter Two: Tongue: The Musical

The Sunday night after our kiss, we sat in Paul's apartment, watching TV in his living room.

More accurately, _making out_ on his couch while sporadically glancing at the TV screen. Reruns of Fear Factor was on. It was rather disgusting, trying to play tongue-hockey while your head is inevitably positioned directly in front of the TV, where you have this really clear view of people trying to eat tarantulas.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensation of Paul's lips pressed hard against mine, his left hand caressing my back, his right on the back of my head. I focused on the feeling of our bodies tangled together, fitting as neatly as two pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Much better.

After several more minutes (which seemed like only seconds) of making out, I heard pleasured groans escaping from the throat of someone that was not me. In a flash, a hand was under the front of my blouse and began snaking its way up toward my bra.

I jerked away. Involuntarily.

Even though Paul's large, cool, and callused hand against my bare skin felt even better than his tongue in my mouth, even though no touch has ever felt so good in my life…

I knew it wasn't right. I wasn't ready. I mean, true, I've been pining for him for one year already. I know I'm practically his stalker. I know that now that he had finally shown some interest in me, I should jump at this chance and let him take away from this god-awful world called Real Life and into the land of complete and total bliss.

Heck, I've been telling myself that for the past few days: to just go along with it if he wants to take things farther than mere kissing.

My heart had agreed.

The problem is my head. I think I was born a prude.

And that had resulted in him sitting at the center of the couch, with me in a frizzy at the edge of it.

"Suze?" Paul spoke, his eyelids heavy and voice husky. He cleared his throat, and pined me down with a stare.

The unspoken question hung in the air between us.

I giggled, the worst thing possible I could've done.

"Uh," I said, picking at invisible lint on the sofa. "The thing is… watching and listening to this show at the same time as… _you know_, is really freaking me out…"

I gestured at the screen hopelessly.

Paul's head turned, and mine followed suit.

What was on was a commercial about Tampax.

Great. Just my luck. Now Paul's going to think feminine stuff disgusts me, and that makes no sense whatsoever.

I peeked at him from the corner of my right eye. He saw it, smirked, and scooted over until we were almost squished together again.

"Suzie," Paul said soothingly, touching my bare arm. A tingle, mixed with a sinful chill, traveled through my body and stopped at the soles of my feet. "If you're not ready, just tell me."

I stared at him, wondering what exactly he would do if I did tell him. To some, it might be evident that he said what he did to be assuring, to promise that it's okay if I feel uncomfortable. But I've been around too much and seen and heard words just like these too often to go for the most obvious meaning.

Even _if_ he's Paul Slater.

"It's really okay if I'm not?"

He buried his face into my neck and nibbled on my skin.

When he spoke, his voice was breathy. The sound of it made my heart skip a beat and soar right through my chest and into the nape of my neck, where it was gobbled up by the one whose mouth was pressed so firmly there.

"I'm not going to pressure you. Not now, not ever. The decision is yours, Suze."

His head emerged from my chestnut hair. He looked at me, his eyes big, sad, and blue as the ocean. Deep yet so pure. So real. So honest.

"I know as well as you do that the flesh isn't the heart."

I swear to you, I stopped breathing for one minute, and the world stood perfectly still. Unmoving. I raised my head higher and my eyes were directly aligned with his. My gaze penetrated his, and his in turn pierced into mine.

When the moment was over, I could hear the sound of the television again, and the front door opening as his parents finally came home. I could feel that I was sitting on a designer black couch, instead of cirrus clouds. I could see the blinds and the TV behind Paul again, instead of the puffy white haze I had thought was heaven.

"Time for you to go, Suzie," Paul said, grinning and playful like he was before when I first came through the door. "Come on, I'll take you home."

But nothing was going to hide the facts.

"The flesh isn't the heart…"

If you dig a little deeper, Paul Slater basically just said he loves me.

* * *

_Until we meet again, wake up with the dawn._

* * *

I took the words of Jesse Tuck -my own Paul- to heart. The next morning, I got up at dawn. I chose the outfit I think flatters my body type the most. I styled and styled my hair until it looked absolutely perfect. I applied my makeup the most carefully and gingerly I have ever done something before. I even sprayed on perfume. 

When I was done, I looked better than I did in a long time.

* * *

The thing is, even though I guess Paul and I are a couple now, we don't really act like it in school. Nothing had technically changed. He still says "hi" to me when he passes me in the hall. He stills pays attention to me in class. But he doesn't exactly treat me like I'm his girlfriend. I mean, he walks me to class sometimes. He talks to me during locker break. But he doesn't sit with me during lunch. He doesn't kiss me or hug me or show any affection for me when we're on school grounds. 

When I finally got up the courage to ask him why a couple of days ago, he said it's because he doesn't want anyone to know about us, on account of the fact he thinks private lives should be just that: private.

"Rumors will fly," He had said. "Fake rumors. And I don't want you subjected to any lies just because you're with me."

It was so sweet. And his gaze was truly saddened when he spoke.

I believed him. I believed it was sincere, his caring about me.

But now, standing at my locker, waiting for Gina, I felt alone. I wanted Paul's arms around me. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his body's warmth mingling with mine so bad. I just wanted to touch him. Is that too much to ask?

Screw rumors, I thought bitterly. Who cares what the hell every-freakin'-one thinks? I could give a damn about the opinions of people in this stereotypical school.

I didn't spent hours getting ready this morning just so Paul can take one look at me, say "hi," and then walk away.

Like hell I didn't.Footsteps sounded from behind me.

I spun around and was met with a view of Gina, dressed, as usual, like she was America's next top model.

"Oh." I couldn't help the disappointment that dipped into my tone.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not tall, blonde, and have a penis," Gina said sarcastically, dropping her bag on the floor. She drew several books out and started working on her combination.

I blushed. "That's not it, Gin. It's just… last night was awesome. I was really hoping Paul would come around about this protecting me from hurtful rumors thing and just show some PDA."

I added a sigh for emphasis.

Gina glanced at me and her look softened. I had gushed late into morning to her on the phone last night, detailing every single movement and word and emotion that had sizzled in the air between us. Paul and me, I mean. Not Gina and I.

"Hey, he will soon enough." She gave my arm a squeeze and loaded her books into her locker, taking out some notebooks and the things she needed for first period. "It won't be long until he can't resist you in school, Suze. Trust me."

She smiled, a rarity when we're on the subject of one Mr. Paul Slater.

But the smile and the reassurance… it was just what I needed.

"Thanks, Gin," I grinned at her and when she was done, we walked to first period English together, me feeling as if I was could float higher than the flag on top of the flagpole in front of the school.

The first thing I saw when I stepped into Mrs. Connealy's English class was Paul, sitting at his desk, with Kelly Prescott -head cheerleader, student council president, all-around bitch- on top of it.

The _desk_.

She was draping and leaking all over the place. Her legs were swinging above the ground, covered in Jimmy Choos. Her hands gripped the edges of the desk on the side facing Paul. And her boobs… well, they were practically hanging right out of her skankilicious sweater.

With his trademark grin, Paul was staring at her cleavage.

It was kind of impossible not to.

Kelly was saying something, and Paul looked to be half-listening. The other half had an imagination that was too busy in Screwing Kelly Land.

The jealous-part of my brain said that. Not my heart, which is 100 percent devoted to the good -because there is only good- of Paul Slater.

"Suze," Gina suddenly whispered from behind me. "I know this is a very, eh, disturbing sight, but you're blocking traffic."

I turned around, and noticed the horde of people behind us, all glaring at me.

I didn't realize my attention had stayed on _them_ for that long.

"Sorry," I muttered and quickly scampered to my desk, with Gina following suit and dropping into the chair next to mine.

Slowly, I got out my binder, Romeo and Juliet (the play we're reading in class), and took out my homework. All the while keeping my eyes trained on Paul and Kelly.

By this time, Paul had taken his eyes off of Kelly's boobs. He had progressed on to actually talking to her.

And judging by their sly gestures, movements, and tones that I could actually hear (being not too far away from them), they weren't _just_ having an early morning conversation like Gina and I did in the hallway.

No. They were _flirting_.

"Hey," Gina said, noticing my aghast expression. "Guys flirt. _Especially_ if they're good-looking and has a girlfriend. It's natural."

She was probably right, since in my days, I've seen countless taken hot guys in our school flirting with single hot girls. But for some reason, I thought Paul would see me as enough.

Enough so that he wouldn't feel the need to be like every other handsome guy and flirt just because he can.

Guess I thought wrong.

"Gin. There is nothing natural about Kelly Prescott shoving her tits in someone's face. It's disgusting."

"That I'll have to agree with," She replied, casting another look at them, whom, by this time, were close enough to bump noses.

"Why don't you go say hello to him? See if it wakes him up."

"What? No. No way. Our policy is to never be act as if we're more than friends when we're at school."

Gina propped her head on her elbow so she was directly looking at me. "Saying 'hi' does not indicate you two are romantically involved."

I shushed her, nervously glancing at my fellow classmates to see if they'd heard. None were even looking in our direction.

"Actually, it kind of does," I sighed, tracing an outline of Romeo from a worksheet. "I've never done it before. He's always the one who greets me first. And if I mess that up today, when he has another girl nearly in his lap… it'll look suspicious."

"As if I'm jealous," I added.

"You kind of are, Suze," Gina muttered as she got out her binder from her backpack, seeing that Mrs. Connealy just walked in and clapped her hands to get our attention. "And besides, whatever happened to 'screw rumors?' I thought you don't care about what anyone thinks of you and Paul anymore."

My cheeks flamed.

I kept quiet as Mrs. Con called roll, took up our homework, and began class.

I didn't exactly have a response for Gina.

"Okay," Mrs. Connealy said, getting out her own copy of Romeo and Juliet. "Today we're doing the scene where Romeo gets the message Juliet is dead. He goes to the graveyard, sees her lifeless, kisses her, and then stabs himself."

She said it so matter-of-factly that I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. But because of the usual irony in this part of the story.

"Paul and Kelly. You two are Romeo and Juliet. Begin."

I froze, my pencil in midair as it halted in its passage to my paper. I stared, as if transfix, as they got out of their seats and went to the front of the room. Paul looked amused. Kelly looked smug.

I wanted to knock that expression right off her face.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking me off from my fantasy of breaking every single finger of Kelly Prescott's. As Mrs. Con turned to answer it, I gave Gina one of my hopeless looks that said, _this cannot be good_.

She just rolled her eyes. Translation: _Get over it. It'll only be a one-second smooch, and Kelly won't even be able to kiss him back. She's supposed to be dead, remember?_

I turned back and faced forward just as Mrs. Connealy addressed the class again.

"This'll only take about a minute. Please begin." She nodded to Paul and Kelly, and they were off.

Granted, Mrs. Con didn't close the door. She just stood in the doorway, conversing in a low voice with whoever was there, not paying any attention whatsoever to Paul and Kelly.

But I did. I gave them my full attention. And what I found out was this: they're both really, really good actors.

Paul's tone of voice, his facial expression, and his arm movements almost got me believing that he's really Romeo. Just with blue eyes and blonde hair. And Kelly… take away the slutty attire, and you got yourself a reflection of Juliet.

They were great, and I was totally awestruck. Kelly, I wasn't that surprised with her performance. I mean, deception is her middle name, so technically, if she's so good at lying and deceiving people, she should have no trouble pulling off acting as someone else.

But Paul… I was amazed. And stunned. In a good way, though. It's nice to know that my future husband may have a chance on Broadway.

So I -along with the rest of the class- was pretty mesmerized the whole time they were conversing back and forth, adding sighs or motions here and there for that extra affect. I even forgot that they were supposed to kiss- until it happened.

Romeo/Paul was standing over Juliet/Kelly's inert body, his expression full of remorse and sorrow. He dropped down on his knees and caressed her face tenderly, as if touch alone would set her on fire. A single tear slipped from his right eye as he stared at his "dead" lover lying on the ground/Mrs. Con's desk. In a flash, his lips were on hers.

Red with pink.

The colors mixed, creating a shade of light ruby.

The dead raised from her grave. Kelly's hands grasped the sides of Paul's neck, and his in turn were pressed on her back.

They moved to a sitting position. I watched as their tongues darted in and out of each other's mouth; as their bodies pressed harder together; as their hands moved up and down, side to side, in a rhythmic motion; as their mouths engulfed one another's, still begging for more.

I acutely felt the beat of my heart, thumping out of synch as the sight registered. A ringing started in my ears, drowning out all sounds except for the whooshes of an imaginary wind. My body felt lighter and lighter, carrying me out of the classroom, where I didn't belong.

I wasn't supposed to be there. Witnessing a scene that would shatter my fragile heart to pieces.

Pieces so numerous and minute that it would be impossible to piece them back together.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I couldn't just sit there and watch Paul and Kelly make out as if they've been doing it all their lives. I couldn't just pretend it's all _natural_, that they're supposed to be doing that, when my world had tilted sideways and my heart was dislocated at all the wrong angles. I couldn't.

I averted my eyes and gazed down at my binder. A jumble of graffiti stared up at me.

The desire to throw up was so strong and potent that at that instant, my breakfast almost came straight back up. My hand was over my mouth, and my feet were on the floor, positioned so I could get up and run out any time.

Thankfully, just then, Mrs. Connealy stepped back inside, closed the door, and turned back to the class. She saw what the whole class had been staring at for the past five minutes and gasped.

Her hand went to her mouth. Just not for the same reason as mine.

"Stop!" Her shriek broke Paul and Kelly out of their reverie. "What do you think you're doing! Romeo gives Juliet a quick kiss on the lips, and then stabs himself to death! They don't start playing Tongue: The Musical! And how could an unconscious Juliet be sitting up, anyway? How could she be kissing someone when she's pretending to be dead!"

She sounded to be in hysterics. Paul and Kelly, who had broken apart -albeit reluctantly- when Mrs. Con's fervid voice first reached their ears, looked at each other guiltily. Paul risked a glance to her face.

It was blotched red with anger. Her glasses fell to the tip of her nose, and her lipstick was smeared. She was breathing heavily with fury and the effort of yelling her lungs out.

"We're sorry, Mrs. Connealy," Kelly said, sounding genuinely so. (Or maybe she was acting again.) "We just got carried away, is all. It won't happen again, we promise."

"Carried away? _Carried away?_" She shrieked again, stomping her way to them. "You're in a class in a prestigious high school! How could a kiss carry you away into France, huh, Miss Prescott? How a peck on the lip turn into a make-out session for everyone to see? Can you answer that, Miss Prescott? Mr. Slater?"

She huffed, but it was clear she wasn't done. Paul cut in before she could continue.

"Hormones. Pure, unadulterated hormones. You were a teenager once, Mrs. Con. You know it's impossible to resist them."

The look she gave him told the whole world Paul should've kept his mouth shut.

"_Hormones! _Your excuse is_ hormones_?That is the most ridiculous thing a student as ever uttered in my presence! Believe it or not, Mr. Slater, but temptation happens to be actually possible to resist. Nowhere in the constitution does it say you have the right to give in to your _HORMONES_!"

A few kids at the back snickered. I, one of the few who agreed with her at that moment, slunk down in my seat and crossed my arms. I listened to her yelling at them some more, while this dark and heavy feeling settled on my chest and stayed there for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, I was the first one out of the door.

Paul called out my name, but I pretended I didn't hear and walked faster than I've ever walked to my locker. Gina soon appeared next to me and I felt her opening her mouth.

"Save it," I snapped, slamming my locker shut. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it."

* * *

****

How old are you?

_You really wanna know?_

**_Yes._**

_A hundred and four._

**_I'm serious. _**

_So am I. But let's just call it seventeen._

_

* * *

_

_Jesse would never kiss someone else in front of Winnie. Someone she hates, no less,_ I thought bitterly as I trudged to the girl's locker room for PE. I have physical education at the worst time possible: right after lunch. How they expect us to prance around like ballerinas directly after we've eaten, I have no clue.

At lunch, I had been too busy complaining to Gina (who'd forgiven me for snapping at her earlier) to eat. When the bell had sounded for the next period, I was surprised since I had lost track of time, and then immediately realized all the talking had made me ravenous. I stuffed down my pizza, went to dump my tray, slipped on some spilled coke, and fell flat on my butt. All that resulted in me being late for gym.

As I approached the locker room, I saw that almost all of the girls were out on the blacktop already, stretching. I hurried to the door and lifted my right foot to go in… when I heard Kelly Prescott's voice, yammering on and on to her cronies.

At the sound of it, I stopped right in my tracks. A surge of anger -not unlike the one I had felt before- vibrated through every bone in my body. Memories of her and Paul's display rushed back full force, and a vivid image of their tongues down each other's throats had me silently gagging.

I told myself to calm down, to start breathing regularly again, and leaned against the wall. Her voice was still there, as loud and clear as if she were using a megaphone.

I couldn't help but hear what she was saying.

"Omigod, you guys, have I told you enough how totally _awesome_ last night was? I swear, we are just perfect for each other. Our mouths fit like a cast and a mold, for God's sake. And our tongues together taste like lemons."

She giggled. "And you know lemons are my fave!"

_She sounds delirious,_ I noted as I played with the string of my gym bag, while wondering vaguely of whom she had gotten hot and heavy with last night.

My question was answered in her next proclamation.

"He is just so hot! _Giggle. _Sometimes I so want to forget about that crap of staying a virgin until I'm married, like all the women in my family have, blahdiddyblahblahblah, and just let him gobble me up. _Giggle_. Take me away, Paul Slater! _Giggle._ I want to be yours forevermore!"

The last word was follow by the shrillest giggle of all. If I weren't so frozen with disbelief and numbness at what she had said, I would've definitely concluded that Kelly Prescott was inebriated to the bone.

I mean, _What the fuck? _

She hooked up with _Paul_ last night? How could she? I was with him the whole time!

Breathe, Suze. Or count to ten. Or whatever. But do NOT march in there and rip all her fingernails off. Do NOT tear out her "precious" hair. Do NOT scratch off her hideous make-up. DON'T. Just breathe, and you'll be fine…

I felt like giving the logical part of my brain a good kick in the caboose. I can be calm and sensible when it _doesn't_ sound like my boyfriend's cheating on me.

"_Sigh_. It was heaven, you guys. Total heaven. But the fun had to stop when a park ranger shined his flashlight on us. _Giggle_. We were so worried about getting caught making out in the bushes that in our haste to leave, my jacket got caught in some branches by the entrance. _Giggle._ It was a good one, too. My father bought it for me in Paris. _Sigh_."

And she proceeded to talk about how rueful it is she lost her million-dollars jacket.

Big freaking deal.

I slumped to the ground and buried my face in my hands. If what she had said was true, then Paul had somehow met up with her after he dropped me off and they hooked up in some bushes at the park.

But that wasn't possible. Paul wouldn't do that. He's Jesse Tuck! And although Jesse Tuck made mistakes, he wouldn't cheat on Winnie just for the sake of cheating on her.

He _wouldn't_. And I believed, deep down in my heart, neither would Paul.

Not perfect Paul. Never perfect Paul who has the ability to make _me_ feel perfect when we're together.

Kelly's words startled me out of my reverie again. She had returned to the subject of Paul.

"And you know, you guys, I think he really likes me. I really don't think he regards me as just another bimbo to fool around with. I believe that he actually, really… _likes me…_"

Her voice wafted closer. Footsteps sounded.

Step away, Suze. She's coming.

I couldn't bring myself to move.

"And our kiss in English today… _Sigh._ Heaven. Absolute heaven. If someone can't see how perfect it was, then she's blind…"

Get your butt off the floor and get up. She's going to find you here, eavesdropping, if you don't move soon!

"We're destined to be together. We are. As soon as our lips touch… everything feels so right. Everything stands still. Everything falls sideways as if the world is rotating. Everything is a _fairy tale_."

I almost laughed at her inconsistencies, but the approaching footsteps, sounding only several inches away, shut me up.

MOVE!

Kelly Prescott and her fellow cheerleading friends found me sitting on the floor outside the locker room door, watching people a few yards away stretching as if it were more interesting than anything _she_ had to say.

At the sight of her glaring at me, I stood up, faked a smile, brushed past her, and went inside to change.

* * *

After school that day, I phoned Paul. 

"Suze." He picked up after the first ring.

Caller ID, I realized dimly.

"We need to talk," He said hurriedly before I even had a chance to open my mouth. "Meet me at the park in ten minutes?"

The park. Huh. The same one you made out with Kelly Prescott in?

I told my evil, satanic part to shut the hell up.

"Sure," I made my voice extra cheerful.

I could feel him smile at the other end of the line.

"Oh, Paul, one more thing," I said before I could stop myself.

"Yeah?"

"Where did you go after you dropped me off last night?" I tried to sound as if the question was asked out of curiosity, as if I really couldn't care less.

Despite that, my heartbeat increased. Drastically so.

"I went home." I couldn't tell anything from his tone. "Why?"

"Oh… so you never ventured into the park?" I twirled the phone cord around my index finger while biting my bottom lip.

"No…" He drew the word out, leaving an imaginary question mark at the end.

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you in a few."

And I hung up. He sounded sincere. And clueless, as if he had no idea why I would ever think he would go to the park last night.

Paul Slater was a good actor, but even someone like Johnny Depp couldn't disguise bafflement that well.

I decided he was telling the truth and Kelly Prescott was nothing but a lying, conniving slut, like I always thought.

* * *

He was waiting for me by the entrance. I couldn't help but smile when I saw him there, leaning against the gate, a letterman jacket hugging his body. 

"Hey," He said and wrapped me in a hug. I hugged him back, catching a waft of his cologne in the process.

The thought that Kelly indulged in the heavenly smell too when they were sucking face in English class almost sank me back into the terrible mood I was in for the rest of the school after overhearing her conversation.

Chill.

When we walked into the park, I took special note of whether there was a designer jacket lying on any tree branches.

Nada.

A smile blossomed on my face, and I snuggled closer to Paul.

"So, this thing that we have," I said, sneaking a peek at him. "Would you call it… dating?"

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I saw Paul's body stiffen.

"What is dating, exactly?" He said lightly, quickening his pace. "Two people that're romantically involved? Two people who likes each other and goes out every now and then? Two people that're are defined by society as _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend_?"

"Well," I began, but never got a chance to continue.

"Look, Suze. If this is about what happened today in English… I can explain."

I almost tripped over a levitated crack, but he caught my arm at the last second.

"Oh, please do," I said in answer. I had thought I would have to beg him for an explanation.

He didn't start right away. Instead, he sighed and looked forlornly at our surroundings for awhile. We walked in silence, me waiting patiently for him to begin, him seemingly in another world, rehearsing whatever he was going to say in his head.

Another one of those heavy feelings consumed me, and a dark shadow fell over my heart. I swallowed, willing this loneliness and skepticism of Paul to just go away. To leave.

After all, he said he would explain. Just because he made out with Kelly Prescott when a little peck would suffice didn't necessarily mean he's not perfect anymore. It didn't have to mean he was no longer my Jesse Tuck.

It _didn't_. I was hurt, true. More wounded by their scene than I would ever admit to anymore. More emotionally bruised by it than anything else that had ever happened to me.

But I trust him. I trusted him to tell me the truth, to give an explanation, an assurance that it meant _nothing_.

"Paul?" I touched his arm, or, rather, the sleeve of his jacket. "You can start any time now."

He turned and smiled at me, but for once, that gesture didn't lessen my heartache.

"What type of an argument would more likely to win you over," He asked, kicking at a stone. "One presented sincerely, or one presented reasonably?"

His words tied a cold knot around my throat, cutting off my air supply.

I thought about it dimly, and soon we reached an ice-cream stand. The girl manning it looked to be our age. She was dressed in a sundress, even though it was freezing, and smiled at us as we approached.

Paul returned it. I didn't.

"Ice cream, Suze?" He asked as he handed over some dollar bills, not once taking his eyes off the girl, not even when he asked the question directly at me.

"Sure," I said numbly. "Strawberry."

A cup was handed to me. I stared at the swirling pinkness of it, trying to drown out Paul's voice, merrily conversing with the salesgirl, whose giggling in turn could've beat out Kelly Prescott's by a mile.

He was flirting. Again.

In that moment, I caught a sight of his perfect demeanor slip.

Because perfect boyfriends do not flirt with other girls while he _knows_ that the girlfriend is just standing there, watching and feeling as if her world has fallen apart.

As the realization that he may not be all perfect sinks in.

As the doubt that she'd maybe found the wrong Jesse Tuck pricks at the back of her mind.

I looked at the litter-filled ground and willed myself not to cry. Not to break down in front of all these people, dogs, squirrels…

Not in front of _him_.

Besides, it didn't have to be a big deal. I was making something out of nothing. I was letting my imagination run away with itself.

It was jealousy. Pure and simple.

I took a deep breath and turned to Paul and the girl, who were still talking. "Paul. We need to go."

He seemed a bit startled to see me. But the surprise was there for not even a nanosecond. He grabbed my arm and waved goodbye to the girl, who stared after him with salacious interest.

Not unlike the way I must have looked at him before he showed any interest in me.

"Sorry about that, Suze," He said as we walked side by side. "It's just so unusual when a girl likes Star Wars."

Huh. I like Star Wars.

And so do a zillion other people I know from an online message board.

"So, anyway, as I was saying…" He glanced at me meaningfully. "Sincere or reasonable?"

My gaze involuntarily turned to the ground again. I had no idea what I was going to get with either one.

And a part of me didn't really want to know.

"Sincere," I finally said, thinking, _What the hell. At least I'll know the truth as opposed to some made-up logic._

He sighed and smiled beatifically at me.

"Like I told Mrs. Connealy, Suze," His voice was soft. Like spring rain on a rose petal. "It was hormones."

I couldn't believe it. His explanation was _hormones_? If so, then he had no need to reiterate himself.

"And?" I asked after a silence.

"And… look," He stopped walking and his hands went up to my shoulders. His ocean-blue eyes dug deep into mine. "I'm sorry, Suze. But her lips were just there. And after mine touched hers… well, it was impossible to resist, especially when her arms were around me, pining me down. I couldn't very well just reject her and humiliate her in front of the class."

I snorted. "You're not some kind of saint, Paul. Of course you could've."

It was the first time I had said something to him that wasn't lathered with sweetness and love.

"I _know_," Now he sounded exasperated. A bit desperate. He ran his hands through his hair and faced away from me. "I told you, I'm _sorry_. I never should've done it. But, you know, old habits are hard to break…"

He turned to me again and fixed his eyes on mine once more. When they connected, I looked into his soul.

He really is sorry.

"Suze, listen," He said quietly, gingerly cupping my face with his strong fingers. "Please forgive me."

I exhaled and waited for him to continue.

"It doesn't matter where my lips have been… you'll always have my heart."

* * *

A/n- Gah. Ellipsis! Too many of them! Argh. I need to figure out another way to connect thoughts without all the dot dot dots. Meh. 

Anyway, please review! The next part is going to be really hard to write for me, since Paul does bad things and gets Suze even more heartbroken and yeah…

I kind of just told the basic outline of it. But whatever. This story is already too predictable. Way not just make it more so by giving away the content of every chapter?

_:rolls eyes:_ But, please, review and inspire me?

Love,

Lily

P.S. I'm sorry for the lack of Jesse! But until he comes into the picture, a satanic Paul would have to suffice. _:lowers head shamefully:_ Stick with me, people…


	3. The Friendship Constitution

Replies:

**Arianna Sunrise**- Ouch. I hate guys who goes around making out with other girls even though they already have a girlfriend. In other words, cheaters. Frauds. Insecure jerks. _:sigh:_ I hope your friend saw the guy for who he truly was and got over him. But actually, this is what Suze is going through right now. Even though Paul made out with Kelly in front of the class, she still has trouble seeing him as anything but perfect (because she's stuck on this nonexistent "perfect love" notion).

**Strawberry-Shortcake01**- It makes you feel special because you ARE special! _:hugs:_ And I knew you would like the TE connection. :) But I never would've gotten the quotes without you anyway. So thankies, of course, darling Lindsay.

**nebulia**- o.O You said "Yay Paul!" Aww! Wasn't he just the sweetest? Well, he could've been being laying it on reeeeeally thick, but you never know. After that make-out scene, I made him especially nice. _:cough:_ But everyone still thought he was a creep. LOL. Maybe they're right in thinking so… hmmm… But I absolutely heart you for giving the poor guy the benefit of doubt. :D

**nikki007**- Hunny, he is not hurting Suze yet. Compared to the badder (excuse my grammar. I just like that word. Badder. As opposed to worse. _:rolls eyes:_) stuff he does later… Paulie's an absolute ANGEL!

**Kimou**- _:looks around innocently:_ Well… all I have to say is, get ready to hate Paul even more. XDDDDDDD Yay, give Suze the credit. Jesse hasn't shown up yet. (Oh, and whose fault is that, huh? Right. Mine. But he's actually in this chapter. Jesse, I mean.) Teehee.

**BillThePonyLlama**- You are weirdly hilarious, Samster. I mean, aside from your insanely entertaining review, there's that intro in your profile. "Here's some shizzle on the pony nizzle." ROFLMAO! Well, I found it funny, okay! I started to snort so hard that I had snot all up my nose and mouth and throat and everywhere in between. Well… not _that_ dramatic. But I wanted to provide someone with a bad mental image. Hmph. Can't blame a girl for trying. Anyways… _:steals popcorn away from Elf Clone:_ GIMME THE POPCORN, ELFIE CLONIE!

**jesseishot**- Jesse will be in the storyline. He will be in it so much you'll get sick of him and want Paul to shoot him. Well, not really. But he'll come into play! This can't be a J/S fic without the J part, can it? _:winks:_

**UnangelicHalo**- Oh Katty… who said Paul is telling lies, huh? Who said that his sweet talk can't be the truth? Answer me, Katty! _:cough:_ I'm sorry. I just had an urge to yell at someone. _:coughs again:_ Don't worry. I didn't really mean it. I guess it's obvious Paul wasn't telling the whole truth. _:makes sad face:sniffles:_ But he kinda wasn't. Not everything that comes out of his mouth, anyway. _:hugs Kattykins unexpectedly:_ I'm sorry. I just had an urge to hug someone.

**Lisa-Beth**- Wow, thank you. I myself wasn't even that good a friend of AUs until I started writing one. LOL. Anyway… my style of writing is actually like Meg's? Wow, this is freaky. I deliberately tried not to sound like her. Well, I didn't try that hard, but still. _:cough:_ And oh, I can't wait for Jesse either! (I'm an idiot.)

**DarkenedStar**- Yes, damn Paul indeed. But Jesse will save her! Well… kinda. _:sighs:_ I've never been too big of a fan of "knight in shining armor." But Jesse helps her get over Paul, true. After the terribly awful and awfully terrible things he does. AND I WANNA SEE JESSE TOO! (I'm turning even more idiotic.)

**Little Tinkerbell Girl**- _:beams:_ Well, I try. I love writing emotions, but towards the end of writing part one, where they were on the roof and everything was all emotional, I burst into tears at how sucky it was. Sometimes I wish my emotions would just write the damn emotions for me. If that makes any sense.

**Pink-Raven**- Oooooh… I never even thought of it that way. The whole different perspective, with "Suze wanting Paul instead of Paul wanting Suze." The idea just popped into my head and I didn't even stop to think how role-reversal it is. Hmmm… thanks for that insight. Hehe. By the way, you might want to read Part Two before this one. Otherwise, it wouldn't make that much sense. :D

**Aneesa**- Omigod! I so did not ruin Paul! Sorry, just had to do that. _:grins:_ _:looks around nervously:_ _:starts to whisper:_ Don't tell anyone, but I'm a PF too. Yet for some reason, I love writing J/S fanfics. I'm a hypocrite that way. _:cries:_

A/n- Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your support so far. It has made writing this Part Three way easier. When I burst into tears at the suckiness of it, I looked back at the wonderful reviews, stuffed a whole box of kleenex on my face, and resumed writing.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Friendship Constitution

My face, which was still in the grasp of his strong fingers, burned.

Not in embarrassment. Not in the -nonexistent- heat. But in my pure happiness at his words.

"R…really?" I brought my eyes up to search his gaze, looking for the truth, wanting to know that he was being sincere. Wanting for it to be true, wanting to know that he wasn't just playing me.

He _couldn't_ be. No guy could ever have the heart to go around telling girls who mattered to him as much as his own excrete that they had his heart. Because that would be impossible. Because he, in turn, would be heartless if he did so.

If he took the whole thing as a joke.

"Of course, Suzie," Paul caressed my cheeks gently, his voice softer than a mere whisper. "No matter what I do, no matter what my lips may touch… just remember, you'll _always_ have full possession of my heart."

I smiled, and felt tears starting to form at the back of my eyes.

"You stole it from me a long time ago. And frankly, I don't really think I want it back."

With that, he kissed me. Long and deep and pure and _full of love_.

And you know what? I felt loved. Even though my face was wet with tears by that time, even though everyone was watching, even though there was still a chip of doubt in my mind that perhaps his intentions weren't all that harmless, and even though the kiss felt frivolous to that one several days ago on my rooftop…

I still kissed him back. Because, to reiterate myself, kissing Paul Slater could make me feel perfect. And I wanted that more than anything else.

I wanted a perfect love. And I was convinced he, the Mr. Perfect he was, was the only one who could deliver it.

* * *

"Well, I guess this is it," I said as we stopped once we got outside the park. The sky was dark now, and the moon had already came out. 

Paul smiled and fingered a strand of my hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, Suze."

"Right." There, in the dark, after that kiss and another stroll, I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to do anything. I wasn't sure what _he_ was going to do.

That sense of unpredictability thrilled me.

Except I was doomed for disappointment.

After looking at me for awhile, Paul pecked me lightly on the forehead and started to walk away, a direction different from my apartment, since his was at another side of the town. I couldn't help the feeling of disappointment that forced its way up my stomach and my throat, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

I had lived sixteen years of my life, and for every minute of it, I was waiting and wishing for something exciting, that I could actually _want_, to finally happen. Nothing had so far, and I thought that this could be the night.

Guess I was wrong.

Just as my foot made a thudding sound in its first step, I heard Paul's voice, calling out my name.

"Suze."

Chills sprinkled down my spine as I waited for what came next.

"Yeah?" I called back, turning to face him. I tried to keep my voice neutral, as if I couldn't care less what he was going to say. Inside, however, I was knotted up in excitement.

"I was wondering…" He began, and twirled a strand of his golden hair around his fingers. He looked uncertain for a moment, but then the confidence mask was back on.

_Oh my God. Paul Slater was actually nervous. About asking _me_ something!_

I kept quiet, knowing that if I spoke, my voice would come out all squeaky and unnatural. Besides, a small part of me was somewhat afraid at the question.

"Do you happen to have a date to Homecoming already?"

I had to blink several times before the words sank in and the importance of the question hit me like a typhoon.

When it did, I found it hard to breathe.

All I could do, as I stood there, staring at him, studying the never-before-seen vulnerable expression on his face, was shake my head "no."

He let out a pent-up breath. "Oh, good," he said, smiling again. I noted dimly that I somehow preferred it when he wasn't smiling. Without any curling up or downs of the mouth, any crinkling in the eye, he just seemed more… real.

"So, would you like to go with me?"

"Uh," I said, hardly believing it. Even though I had anticipated this as a follow-up to the previous question, it still came as a surprise.

My pulse raced. Sweat dripped from my armpits. I forgot how to speak.

God, Paul Slater was just so beautiful. The shadows on his face, cast by the moonlight and the streetlights, outlined his best features.

I guess I didn't say anything for a long time. I guess I was too busy noting his beauty for the fiftieth time. I was I was still shaken up over the fact he had asked _me_ to Homecoming with him. Whatever happened to not letting other people finding out we're together? Whatever happened to stupid rumors?

Could Paul have at last realized his love for me could overcome any obstacles the tribulations of high school may throw our way?

"Suze?" I didn't notice he was standing right in front of me, only inches away, until he was. And then, I gasped because I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the intensity in his eyes.

"You want me to get on my knees and beg?"

"No, no…" I giggled nervously. The sound came out wrong. Strained. Like a scratchy song that didn't belong to a hummingbird.

"I mean, yes, I will go to Homecoming with you. I would love to." I straightened up my spine and tilted up my head so we were gaze to gaze.

He grinned, showing all his white, modeling-material teeth.

"Perfect."

With that, he walked away. I did too.

All the way home, I felt lighthearted. Like my heart shrunk to the size of a ping-pong ball, but weighed nothing.

I didn't understand the feeling. Partly because, even though I know I was supposed to be happy, so contented that I could start singing then, I wasn't. Happy, I mean.

Not all 100 percent of me.

I felt carefree, true. Like all my worries had been blown away. But I did not feel as if love had given me wings and I could fly. I did not feel like the happiest girl in the world. I did not feel as if that exciting thing, that event I had been waiting and wishing for all my life, had finally happened.

Instead, I felt rather empty.

* * *

I mean, yes, I _was_, in a way, excited. After all, how could I not be? I'd never had a date, much less to a school function, before. It would be nice to show up somewhere where you're supposed to have a date and actually have one. 

If that makes any sense.

Anyway, Paul had asked the question on Monday night, only five nights away from the dance. Homecoming was on Saturday.

I spent all afternoon on Tuesday in the mall with Gina, running around and trying to find a dress that didn't make me look slutty or too flat. One that wasn't all ugly, either.

One that I would fall in love with. One that _Paul_ would want to jump me in.

One that if Winnie wore, Jesse Tuck would fall in love with her all over again.

It was hard. We found absolutely _nada_ at the mall. It was when we went to her house, disappointed and worn-out, and I opened her closet, that I saw the perfect dress for me.

She had never even worn it before, because, in her own words, she grew three inches in a month and the dress was suddenly "too short" for her. Also, "the colors" matched her skin tone "all wrong."

It was green, the exact same shade as my eyes. The dress fell to my toes, not an inch more or an inch less. It was a simple design, made with 100 percent polyester, but looked and felt so much like real silk. Patterns of leaves and flowers dotted the dress all the way until the last centimeter of the fabric. They didn't stand out; they blended in with the cloth, as if they belonged there.

I loved it. It was a perfect fit, and it didn't make me seem like a prude or a slut, since it was revealing, but not _too_ much so. There was an open circle at the back, where my partner could put his hand when slow dancing. The shoulder straps were about an inch wide and hung perfectly on my shoulders.

"Gin…" I said softly, letting my word trail off. I wasn't sure what to say, exactly.

Gina waved her hand in the air, as in, _whatever_. She rolled her eyes and smiled at me. A real, genuine smile between best friends.

"Take it, Suze. It's yours."

I squealed (so un-me!) and tackled her in a bear hug.

Even though I was strangely hesitant about my date (reason still unknown. I was trying not to think about that walk home much, but it never strayed far from my mind. You know when you shoo something away from your thoughts, it _always_ comes back full force? That's what it was like), at least I had the perfect dress to wear.

* * *

Jesse Tuck: You're the first human I've ever wanted to know the truth.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and early. I was up at six on the dot. From eight in the morning to five in the afternoon, Gina and I were out, getting our nails/hair/whatever done and doing a little last minute shopping. By the frantic way we were preparing and freaking out, you would've thought it was the freaking senior prom or something, instead of just a yearly Homecoming dance.

By six, I was sitting in the living room, trying hard not to bite my fake, manicured fingernails. It was fortunate that I had gotten my nails done. Otherwise, they would've dissolved into nothingness in my skin and lines of blood would've been appearing on the tip of each finger, and I'm sure that would turn Paul on dramatically.

NOT.

But the longing to start gnawing away was a sure sign I was nervous, scared, and excited all at once, because my nails had not went anywhere near my mouth since I was seven.

"Mom, what time is it?" I asked for the zillionth time. I started to fidget with my dress, but then, after a thought of wrinkled greens and messed up flowers, my hands went back to sitting neatly and stiffly on my lap.

"Suze, relax," Mom said, coming to sit down by me. She moved as to touch my perfectly made up hair, but her hand paused in the air when she saw my death glare.

"Six o' one," She said after a glance at her watch and a sigh. "Honey, he'll be here. Guys are late. They always are."

A flashback from my conversation with Gina on Monday came to mind:

"Guys flirt. Especially if they're good-looking and has a girlfriend. It's natural."

So I guess not only is Paul Slater like other guys in the fact that he flirts even though he has a girlfriend, he's late on appointments too.

There goes my hope that-

Ding-dong.

"There goes the bell," Mom said, feigning apathy. But her bright eyes, the alertness in her facial expression, and the fact she sat up a little straighter on the couch totally gave her away.

Who could blame her? Finally, after sixteen years, I get a date to a school dance. Of course she would wonder who finally brought me out of my "introverted world" and into one a "normal teenager could appreciate."

Excuse me, Mother. I know you don't exactly approve of those late-night phone calls from police officers. I know you don't enjoy visiting me in the hospital just after you applied your face mask. I know everything I do worry you. I know by society's standards, I am not what you would deem "normal."

But the thing is, I have never felt normal before in my life. Maybe I'm destined to abnormal. Or abnormally normal. Or whatever.

Besides, people in love never feel normal. If I could have even one thing in common with them…

"Suze? Are you going to answer it?"

The bell sounded again, and I found Mom looking at me expectantly.

"Right, sorry," I muttered, getting up and walking to the door nervously. "Got caught up in some thoughts."

I grasped the knob. I was suddenly aware of the fact my palm had turned sweaty.

_Breathe, Suze. It's _Paul_. Just because you two are going to a school function, just because you'd be seen in a different light from today on, just because people who've regarded you as less important than dog shit will start bowing down to you once they see you with Paul…_

I turned the knob. It wouldn't budge.

Maybe it was the wrong way…?

For Christ's sake. The knob should turn both ways.

But I tried the other way nonetheless.

It still wouldn't turn.

BREATHE. Maybe it's just jammed. No prob. No problem at all.

I held onto it with both hands and started to pull. I jiggled it and watched and listened hopelessly as it stayed in the same place. Unmoving.

Beads of sweat appeared on my forehead and hairline. I know because when I reached up to touch my face, to feel how bad I was burning up, I could feel them. The sweat gathering.

God, don't hyperventilate.

I started to breathe in small gasps. Leaning against the cool wood of my door, I wondered why it was _my_ door that had to get jammed. And on the most important night of my life, no less.

Being a Mediator has cursed me. Seeing, speaking to, and helping the dead has managed to bestow me this cursed life.

I couldn't even go to a stupid _dance_ without something going wrong. What was I supposed to do now, drill a hole in my ceiling, climb up to the rooftop, and jumped down straight into the embrace of Paul Slater, who would have gotten my telepathic message and would be standing out on the street, arms stretched out, ready to catch me?

Right. I didn't think so.

For some reason, tears came to my eyes as I thought of how fuckedup my life has been. And still is. And how I can't do anything I like and having it go as planned. And how everything I've ever wanted turn out to be either all wrong, or something I never was going to get.

The salty tears cascaded down my face. I slumped to the floor and didn't even try to stop the flow.

What was the point? I wasn't going to go anywhere anyway. Might as well rest and let my mascara get smeared.

Shut up, Suze. And get your butt off the floor. You got Paul, didn't you? And you wanted him, didn't you? He was your one and only desire. You have him.

"You shut up," I told the good and logical part of my brain.

So you can't say you never get anything you want.

I burst into tears. Real ones. Big, fat ones that didn't seem too intended on stopping any time soon.

Mom rushed to me in a flash and gathered me up in her arms. She cradled my head in the crook of her elbow, and I didn't even care she was messing up my hair.

"Suzie, what is it? What's wrong?" She looked at me so worriedly, so tenderly, that all it did was make me cry harder.

The bell dinged. Again.

Making my voice as quiet as possible, which wasn't that soft, on account of the fact my voice sounded all nasal and I was trying to stifle my sobs, I told her in between gasps of air. "The doorknob… it wouldn't… it wouldn't… _turn_…"

I sniffled, and snot clogged the inside of my nose and started to flow down again, getting all tangled in the bridge of my nose and the upper lips of my mouth. I felt disgusting.

Mom stood up. She gave me a strange look.

"Suze…" She said, putting her own hand on the knob.

"Vhat?" I asked, trying to clear the heavy snot and other stuff from my throat. I stood up too.

"The door. It's locked. Next time, you might want to try to unlock it before you turn the handle."

I stared at her. And then at her right hand as it took ahold of the tiny lock in the center and twisted that so it was lying horizontally instead of vertically, like it was before.

Something exploded inside of me. I couldn't pinpoint what, exactly, but the part of me that could still think rationally then was just glad it wasn't my heart.

(A/n- I know it may seem so, but that incident there wasn't completely insane and pointless.)

* * *

"So," Paul said in the limo as we were on our way to the school. "You look great." 

He was only trying to make conversation, I could tell. I didn't think he wanted anything to do with me then. Even though after we (my mom and I) figured out the door problem, I had gone to the bathroom to clean up while she stalled him, he was suspicious. I looked pretty much like I did before my face was covered with snot when I emerged from the room. Yet Paul… he knew something was up. He knew something was wrong.

But he, being the gentleman that he is, didn't say anything about it.

I muttered a "thanks" in reply to his compliment, and we sat in silence for the rest of the ride. He seemed uncomfortable, and I was sure I came off the same way. All of a sudden, the dress felt scratchy and too tight. The shoes felt like it was going to eat up my toes one by one. My purse didn't look like it matched. My nails seemed like claws.

I felt like I was in someone else's skin.

Finally, after the oh so awkward ride, we arrived at the school. He came around to my side to open the door for me, and I got out, trying very hard to be graceful.

I don't think I pulled it off, since I tripped on the way down from the limo and had to grab onto the sleeve of his suit in order not to fall off and break both legs.

Immediately after we entered the gymnasium, which had been transformed _drastically_ (it no longer smelled like last year's cheese, last decade's eggs, and last century's socks), I noticed Paul's eyes roaming.

I stood there beside him and waited as he looked for whomever. I clutched my handbag tighter in my hand and brought it up nearer to my face. Somehow, that offered a sense of security even though it seemed I had nothing to be unsure about.

Finally, Paul turned to me, the usual grin on his face. "Listen, Suze, I'm gonna get us drinks, okay?"

Before I even opened my mouth, he made a movement as to go.

"All right," I said as I watched him walk away. Not toward the concession stand, but toward a group of his friends.

"Hey," Gina said, appearing from behind me. She had come dateless, something only someone as sophisticated as her could pull off. "You guys are way late. What happened?"

"Um" I mumbled, a dull feeling starting in my chest. "It's a long story.

"And I have all night." She leaned against a tall pot holding a humongous plant, which seemed to be fake. She didn't look to be in any hurry to join the crowd and start dancing the night away.

I changed the topic. "Wow, you look great. How has your night been so far?"

"Thanks. It's been okay." She eyed me suspiciously. "Where exactly is your date?"

"Off getting drinks?" I said. "Paul's not really acting like himself tonight."

The music suddenly stopped. Gina straightened up and faced me. "I could say the same about you. Suze, what happened?"

I fixed my eyes on the front of the room, where the student council had set up a little stage. Principal Marverly stood there, looking a bit strange in the iridescent glow of the lights. She had a nervous expression on her face, and in her hands was an envelope.

"Look," I nudged Gina, pointedly ignoring her question. "She's about to announce the Homecoming King and Queen."

A snicker escaped her lips. "As if I care. I bet it's Kelly Prescott and the latest star on the football team."

I shrugged and dragged her over to the front, where people were gathered, waiting for the announcement of the results. Personally, I didn't care much either who won, but I desperately wanted an excuse to get out of that conversation.

I wasn't ready to tell Gina. I could hardly face the reality of my stupidy myself.

Principal Marverly cleared her throat. She stuck the microphone out of its holder and spoke into it. "After this week of voting, I'm glad to say we finally have the results for Homecoming King and Queen!"

She proceeded to talk about how even though those two were voted, _everyone_ was a winner, yadda yadda yadda. I tuned her out and I couldn't help it when my eyes began to travel around the room, looking for Paul.

He had brought me here, after all. He was my _date_. Wasn't he supposed to stay by me or something?

"And the Homecoming King and Queen of 2005 are…"

She took a deep breath.

"KELLY PRESCOTT AND PAUL SLATER!"

Holy shit.

I grabbed Gina by the arm. "Did she just say what I think she said?" I whispered frantically. My fingers dug deep into the fabric of her dress as I watched, transfixed, as Paul and Kelly made their way to the stage.

"Suze, chill." Instead of sounding as if she was going to explode, like I did, she sounded bored. "Being Queen and King just means they're the most popular girl and guy in the school. It's no big deal."

_Okay,_ I told myself._ Listen to Gina. It's no big deal. So they're Homecoming King and Queen. That doesn't mean they have to start sucking face._

I told myself. 

Up on the stage, Kelly was accepting her tiara, a conceited expression on her face. Paul just looked amused.

"And now!" Principal Marverly yelled again, looking -and sounding- wild. "The special spotlight dance between the two chosen ones!"

With that, she hightailed it off the stage, leaving the whole space for Paul and Kelly.

The lights in the gym dimmed. A slow song came on, and a spotlight was shone on them.

Paul shrugged and held out his hand for Kelly. She took it, still looking smug.

"I think I'm going to barf," I said, watching Kelly dissolve into Paul's arms. She nestled her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"It's just a dance." Gina reached over and gave my shoulders a squeeze. "It'll be over in three minutes."

"Right."

The soft melody of the music continued playing, and they danced on that stage. More accurately, they were just shuffling their feet. Which, I guess, is what you're supposed to do when slow dancing.

Seconds ticked by, maybe even minutes. But the song didn't stop. I wanted to stop looking at them, resenting Kelly for being in _my_ place, but I couldn't. My eyes were glued on the "King" and "Queen." No matter how hard I tried to turn my head, to envision another sight, to pretend I was somewhere else, I still came up with the same image: What was directly in front of me.

Kelly snuggled closer to her partner, and Paul held her tighter. They were enveloped in an embrace so taut that I for one wouldn't have been surprised if their body parts shattered to pieces from the strain.

_What's he thinking about right now? _I wondered as my gaze followed them in their brief movements. _Dancing with Kelly? Screwing Kelly? Just Kelly? Or could it be… me?_

I wondered as my gaze followed them in their brief movements. 

Somehow, I doubted it. If he cared so much about me that I were on his thoughts while he was sharing a special dance with another girl…

Well, he wouldn't look so blissful and content right now.

Unexpectedly, Kelly lifted her head and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Several girls in the crowd giggled. Looking at it from someone else's point of view, the gesture would've seemed sweet. But staring at it from mine was a whole other story.

Just then, I had another one of those feelings that my body was hollow and the lightness of it was carrying me off the ground and into the night sky. I felt like I was blending in with the clouds, the stars, and the moon. It didn't seem as if I was in my own body anymore. It was more like I was up above, gazing at an unfamiliar scene the meant nothing, yet _everything_, to me.

The music started to beat even slower. I was dimly aware of the fact I was floating even farther up. My mixed up emotions held me up and flew me away from that image of the man and woman together, a tangle of arms and legs. They tried to rescue me from the sight that caused my heart to ache with a dulled pang, to crack like a piece of fragile glass.

_What exactly is this feeling? _I wondered vaguely._ It wasn't hatred. It wasn't jealousy. It wasn't even vengeance._

It was loneliness.

Just when the thought reached my brain, the music stopped. Everyone clapped as Paul and Kelly reluctantly withdrew themselves from each other. Gina rolled her eyes and commented on how overrated the whole thing is, as if two popular folks and a stupid dance was going to determine the whole history of this high school.

Kelly got carried off by her friends, leaving Paul there alone. Gina saw this, and propelled me forward.

"Go on," she hissed, still pushing me, seeing I wasn't exactly moving voluntarily. "Here's your chance."

And she let me go.

Maybe I was hypnotized or something, but I managed to make my way to him. Just as I was getting ready to call out his name, some of his friends materialized next to him and dragged him off.

I was alone again.

Letting out a deep sigh, I made a beeline for the concession stand and picked up a slice of pizza. I nibbled on it as I watched people around me dancing, all having a good time.

The ache in my heart deepened.

After several more bites, I threw my pizza in the trash and set out to find Gina. I winded my way throw lots of couple, not caring I was breaking them up while they were holding hands/kissing/dancing. I was perfectly pissed off.

I didn't end up finding Gina. What I did find, however, was Paul and Kelly in a darkened corner of the gym, gazing at each other as if they were the other two people on the planet. As if the noise and everyone else yelling and making a commotion didn't bother them one bit.

My jaw dropped open and I froze in my tracks when the image registered. I didn't have much time to be upset, however, because then, somehow, a group of people behind me got overly dramatic, and I was forced to step forward in order to avoid having any of their body parts in my face. When I took that step, though, my foot didn't land on the nice cool ground. Instead, I tripped over the boombox cord and was flung forward…

…Straight into Kelly and Paul, who, by that time, were just getting ready to kiss.

When I landed on them, Miss Grade-A Bitch let out this shrill scream that pierced my eardrums worse than any sharp needle could.

I picked myself up, trying to be as elegant as I could. Ignoring Kelly and the stares I was getting from other people, I turned to Paul and said, "Take me home."

I didn't bother keeping myself down. I didn't care that it sounded shaky. All I wanted then was to get the hell out of that place.

"Suze…" He tried to grin, but didn't quite make it. I could tell he was going to try to persuade me to stay or something, but I just stood there, arms crossed over my chest, looking down at him helping Kelly off the floor.

"I want to go. Now."

With one glance at my determined expression, he let go of Kelly (whom managed to stand up and restrain herself from pulling out every strand of my hair) and led me out the door while everyone in the gym kept silent and looked on with shocked expressions and opened mouths.

When we were completely out in the fresh air, Paul turned to me, a grim look on his face.

"What was that all about?"

I kicked a tree branch on the ground. "Nothing. I just wasn't having a good time and wanted to go home."

He didn't look like he believed me. I knew he wanted to say more, but a conversation about it would only lead to the fact that he and Kelly had almost kissed in my presence (again). I wasn't so sure he wanted that.

We both walked toward his car, a thick silence between us. The aura emanating from Paul told me that he was pissed off.

I guess that's understandable, since someone like him probably stayed all night at these school dances.

Oh, and the fact he didn't get to kiss Kelly.

When we were almost at his rented limo, Paul stopped and grabbed my arm. "Listen, Suze. I'm sorry, okay?"

I didn't feel like dealing with this again just then. "Can we talk about this some other time?" I asked, tiredly rubbing my eyes.

His grip tightened and held until I looked up at him. He wasn't going to let go any time soon.

"_Paul,_" I hissed, trying to shake my arm off. "Look, I'm worn out, upset, and completely pissed off. I came here tonight expecting it to be one of the best nights of my life. Instead, it has turned out to be a disaster and I would like more than anything to just erase this from my memory. Right now, all I want to do is go home and soak myself in a bath. I do not want to have any conversations with anyone. I do not want to listen to any excuses or apologies. I just want to _go_."

When I was done, I was feeling so exasperated that I was almost seething. I couldn't believe I had yelled at him, but what was done was done, and I wasn't exactly feeling too regretful over it. Paul, in turn, just stared at me for awhile and then shrugged. A grin -forced?- overtook his features and we continued the few feet to the limo.

I followed him as he went around to the passenger door to unlock and open the door for me. Even before he stopped in his tracks, I knew something was wrong.

Peeking over his shoulder, I saw a medium-sized cardboard box on the ground. The lid was folded so it closed perfectly. A large dog, perhaps a collie, stood over it, sniffing the top.

We would've left the dog and the box in peace. We would've left it alone. But the problem was, they were blocking the passenger door, preventing it from opening.

Paul lifted his foot up to the body of the collie.

"Um," I said, alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"Move," He muttered, thrusting his foot into the dog.

It stared up at him with eyes darker than the color of the sky before dawn. A flash of defiance appeared there.

"Paul, don't," I warned, touching his arm, afraid of what he was going to do next.

He shrugged my hand off. Before I even realized what was happening, he chambered his foot back and drove it, full force, into the poor dog.

He landed several feet away with a high-pitched bark that lasted a tenth of a second. He picked up his fallen head and stared at Paul and me, the eyes unreadable. After what seemed like a great struggle, he stood up, collapsed back down, and stood back up again. His legs shook, but they held. I watched helplessly as the dog limped away, glancing back at us before crossing a corner. Out of sight.

I myself was shaking too. My voice wobbled as I turned to Paul and looked at him. I opened my mouth, but found I was at a loss for words. I had no idea what to say to him, no clue what I _wanted_ to say.

"It was in the way," he said in a bland voice. Then, seeing my completely appalled expression, he grinned and joked, "What else was I supposed to do? Kiss it and hope it turn into a frog and hop away?"

To my ears, it sounded like_, "What else was I supposed to do? Kick it, torture it, kill it, eat it, and forget about it?"_ That barbarous thought was as bad as the asinine joke he made.

"But… but you kicked a dog," I didn't know what else to say. "You kicked it dog. You severely _injured_ a dog."

He sighed, as in, _big deal, Suze, get over it_. Instead of answering me, he kicked the box aside and unlocked my door, opening it for me.

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to get in.

I glanced at the box and thought I heard small squeaks. "Wait. I just want to see…"

Stooping down, I gingerly opened the top. The inside, I was startled to see, housed rats.

Five tiny, newborn ones, gathered around the mother. They were all nibbling on her belly, and if I didn't just witness my boyfriend blatantly abusing a dog, I would've thought it was the sweetest thing ever.

"Aw," I said nonetheless, peering in closer to get a better look. "Look. Baby rats. Aren't they cute. I swear, if my mom would let me kee-"

I broke off with a gasp as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and, from the streetlight, I saw what the baby rats were really doing. I saw the truly grotesque part of the picture.

"Interesting," I heard Paul comment from somewhere near me. "Very interesting…"

He was wrong. It wasn't interesting. It was sad, it was gross, it was appalling. It was anything _but_ interesting.

The sight wasn't nearly as innocent as I originally thought. Because upon my closer look, I knew instantly the baby rats weren't nibbling their mother like the affectionate rats they allegedly are. Instead, they were sucking on her blood.

Somehow, someway, their teeth had managed to penetrate a hole in her belly and tear a piece of skin off. All five rats were hunched over on that spot, desperately fighting their siblings to get one more drink. One more suck of the blood of the one that had brought them into this world. One more second of torture their mother had to endure.

The mother's eyes were closed. But by her ragged breathing and the twitching of her legs, I could tell she was still alive. Suffering.

My heart went out to her, and I knew, at that moment, that even _rats_ could feel pain. Just like dogs. Just like humans. And to have a piece of flesh eaten away from your body, to have your blood sucked right out of you by the ones who are supposed to love and be loyal to you… it was hell on Earth.

My fingers trembling, I folded back the lid on the box, wrapped it in my arms, and stood up. An unbelievably strong feeling of dizziness blanketed itself around my head, and inadvertently, I collapsed on the hood of the limo.

Paul eyed the box I was holding, but chose to ignore that fact. "So, ready to go?" He asked. Maybe I was still too shaken up to think straight, but I thought he sounded just the tiniest bit impatient.

I nodded. "Yeah. But we need to stop by the animal shelter first to drop these rats off."

For one second, I almost thought I saw his horror and disgust on his face, but then he was smiling again as if nothing had ever changed in his facial expression.

"You're kidding, right?" He continued to smile at me and added a laugh in. As in, _haha, Suze, you're so funny. That joke almost made me go piss in my hello-kitty underwear_.

"No, I'm not." I hopped off the hood and was glad that the nausea didn't return. "I need to take them to the animal shelter."

I lifted my head up and looked into his eyes so he could see how serious I was. He stared at me, and then began to laugh.

The sound was filled with nothing but irony and disbelief, leaving no room for real humor.

"Just what exactly do you think those people are going to do to these rats, Suze?" He said, his tone suddenly colder and harsher than the chilling New York air. "Care for them? Clean them? Feed them? Send them to a vet?"

Here he laughed again. I flinched at the ice bricks that filled every square inch of the sound.

"Don't fool yourself. They're either going to be euthanized right away, or be sent to some laboratory for the use of animal testing. You really think you would be helping them?"

"And frankly," he added, seeing that I didn't respond. "I don't feel like driving there. I'm going to take you home and make no detour on the way."

His jaw was set and firm. His eyes flashed, and I knew he wasn't going to cave in.

What I didn't know, or understand, was why he was acting that way.

His words echoed in my mind and I felt that dizziness again, this time accompanied by a faint ringing in my ears. I stared at him, not even aware of the fact I was trying to find, in that mess of impassivity and unfamiliarity, the old Paul I knew. The one who was nice, sweet, and funny. The one who satisfied my thirst for a certain Jesse Tuck in my life. The one who quenched my desire to have a perfect love. The one who used to make me feel whole. The one who once implied he loves me.

Either that was too deeply buried on this unforeseenly horrible night, or it just wasn't there anymore.

Paul studied my face. I wasn't sure what he saw since I didn't know what was there myself. My emotions were a mess and I couldn't tell one feeling from another. I felt all wrong all of a sudden, as if someone -or something- had taken me apart and screwed me back on clumsily, missing gaps and holes here and there, not covering up areas that shouldn't be exposed.

In other words, I felt vulnerable. For the first time ever, I wanted to be away from Paul Slater. Among other things that were too confusing to define, I wanted him to see my vulnerability as much as I wanted to eat a plate of horse manure.

He sighed and crossed the short distance between us so he was standing directly in front of me. I had no choice but to meet his hard gaze and wish the steel in his eyes would disappear and be replaced with the warmth that was there the first time we kissed.

"Look, Suze, I like you and all," he started, his voice clipped. "But you've ruined too much of my night already. I came today to have fun. To dance the night away. To hang out with friends."

And to make out with sluts.

"I wanted to dance with you and get to know you better too," He continued, his gaze never leaving my face. "But you disappeared after I told you to wait for me while I went and got us drinks. And then, after the spotlight dance, you didn't come to find me, much less congratulate me. When you finally turned up, it was to ruin the only action I was getting tonight. Then, immediately, you demanded to go even though you just knocked me over and I was on the floor. Did you ever stop to think maybe _I_ didn't want to go just yet?

"And you know what, obviously you weren't having any fun. But that didn't mean you would be bored to tears for the rest of the night. Maybe if you ventured onto the dance floor, maybe if you broke out of your shell and actually socialized with the people there, you wouldn't have felt like you did. Invisible. Alone.

"Me, I was actually enjoying myself. I obeyed your command to take you home not because I wanted to. Not because I thought it was the right thing to do. I did it because I felt sorry for you.

"You don't even know who you are, Simon. You kid yourself into wanting things that are totally trivial and wrong for you. You don't know what it means to just _live_. And tonight, I got dragged into your little façade. And that complete and totally pissed me off."

He exhaled, and that's when I knew he was done.

"So now, you can come back to the gym for the rest of the dance. Or I can take you _straight_ home."

I could feel his eyes boring into my head. I could feel him waiting for a response. Not to the above question, but to his little speech.

It had taken a lot, I could tell, for him to unveil his real thoughts. For him to finally come clean about what exactly he thought of me. For him to stop hiding in his grins and smiles and do something that could result in me having an emotional breakdown.

But I wasn't going to. I wasn't going to do anything about what he said. I wasn't going to let it get to me. It hurt, it did. But that didn't have to mean it was the truth. The truth cuts like the knife. What he told me… it hurt like a thousand needles were stuck to my heart.

"Suze? You gonna answer me?"

His voice was soft all of a sudden. But still, it showed that he didn't regret a single thing he had said.

I walked away, away from him. Holding the box in my arms, I concentrated hard on the stop sign a few yards in front of me.

Yet nothing -not my footsteps, not the drumming in my ears, not the squeaks coming from the box- could drown out his departing words.

"Fine, Simon. Just run away. I know right now you're convincing yourself that I never was the person you thought I were. I know you're thinking you're better off without me. I know you think I'm corrupted and depraved for what happened that day in English and tonight. I know you're drilling into your head that I dated you as an experiment. But guess what? I didn't. I dated you because you were intriguing. But all I saw and still see are layers and layers of lies.

"You know, I thought I could help you emerge from your cocoon. You don't believe me, I can tell. You still think I'm this adulterated cheater who views making out with other girls as part of a relationship. You still think I manipulated you.

"And that's not true. You were the one who cheated your life away by pretending and living in this dream world. The only one who manipulated you is yourself."

* * *

After I dropped the box of rats off at a local animal shelter, I turned to go home. Out walking on an isolated, abandoned street, I took off my stilettos and put it in my handbag. Some buses rumbled by now and then. Other than that, I was completely alone. 

Alone with my thoughts. Alone to think about those parting words. So utterly alone that the sentences vibrated in my heart and turned itself over and over in my brain. So alone that I was forced to listen to repeats of the same message until I felt an urge to go off myself.

I didn't want to listen to what Paul had said. I didn't want to care. I didn't want to believe a single word that came out of his mouth.

Maybe that makes me the exact kind of person he had described. Maybe that's precisely what he was talking about, seeing me as this fraud, not wanting to believe anything other than what I lead myself into thinking.

But if I don't feel like listening to the opinion of me from someone who isn't even _me_, then I won't.

And the truth is, I wasn't thinking of what he said. The full meaning of those words hadn't completely sunk in yet. I wasn't grasping what exactly he wanted me to grasp. I wasn't going, _oh, so that's how I really am. Haha. Guess I better go do what he says and go buy myself a clue. And a life too, while I'm at it._

Actually, no. I was stuck on the shattered image of Perfect Him.

My thoughts were revolving around how my perfect Jesse Tuck turned out to be pieces of imperfection when I heard a _whirring_ sound from behind me. I turned around, and was met with a view of a guy on a bicycle.

The first thing that popped into my mind was that he was crazy. No one goes cycling in New York City this late at night. My second was that he had the darkest, blackest eyes I had ever seen.

That was very easy to pinpoint, since he was staring straight at me, giving me a full view of his orbs.

"Hello," He said once he caught up with me. But I wasn't just standing there or anything. I kept right on walking. There was no worry that this guy was going to either a). kidnap me or b). rape me or c). harm me in any way whatsoever.

For one, no bad guy who has wrong intentions says a polite "hello" when he approaches the victim. For two, the vibe from him contained nothing that indicated the slightest shady activity.

"Hello," I said back stiffly. I was curious about him, but I was determined not to entice any trouble.

"It's dangerous for a lady to be out alone so late at night," he commented, riding his bike slowly beside me. "Especially if she's dressed in such a, um, _alluring_ manner."

He sounded a bit embarrassed by the second remark that came out of his mouth. For some reason, his modesty and embarrassment at himself provoked the tiniest smile on my face.

Choosing to ignore the latter comment, I replied, keeping my voice as neutral as possible; "Riding a bike this late by yourself in New York isn't exactly safe either. Especially on this street and part of the town. You shouldn't be here."

"And you should?" Now he sounded amused. I peeked at him out of the corner of my left eye, and was startled to see him train his eyes on me instead of the road ahead.

"I use it for a shortcut to my apartment." I wasn't sure why I was telling him that.

"Ah." After a pause, he continued. "I don't live around here. I'm from California, and I'm visiting relatives for the week."

I nodded. Since there wasn't exactly a suitable reply that wasn't all mega-_duh_, I settled for saying nothing.

"Since we're both alone near midnight," the guy hedged, a bit tentatively, I might add. "And according to you, that's even more dangerous in New York… you want some company?"

I glanced sideways at him. Black hair, black eyes, chiseled cheekbones, a perfectly fit and muscular body. He seemed totally harmless.

I just wasn't so sure I wanted any conversation. Talking to a mere stranger -or anyone, for that matter- about anything other than the dangers of New York was sure to bring back memories of the last conversation I had. Or, rather, the last time someone talked and I tried not to listen.

"No," I finally answered. "But I wouldn't mind any."

I felt him smile.

"I'm Suze," I offered, stopping and turning to look at him.

He stopped his bike also. "Suze." The word tasted funny coming from his mouth. For the first time in my existence, my name sounded _vulgar_.

"Susannah," I added hurriedly. "It's short for Susannah."

This time he grinned, and I found myself staring at his white teeth and prominent cheekbones. His eyes lit up too, making the smile real. In the speck of light cast by a streetlight yards away, I caught sight of a scar in his right eyebrow.

Huh. Maybe he isn't as innocent as I thought.

That thought, though, didn't scare me. It didn't affect me at all. I felt this strange sort of trust and calmness toward him, and it most certainly didn't hurt that he was good-looking.

_Very_ much so.

"Susannah," he said now, the smile still on his face. "As in-"

"Yeah. As in that." I rolled my eyes, and he laughed.

It reminded me of Paul's laugh back at the school parking lot, even though this guy's sounded nothing like it. Paul's laugh was fake. It was meant to show his disgust. But this stranger's… he honestly found it entertaining.

Still, just the thought of Paul chilled me and brought goosebumps onto my skin. An image of him popped up, and somehow my heart felt heavier.

Pushing thoughts of him away from my mind, I turned my attention back to the person beside me.

"My name is Hector," he was saying. "But all my friends call me Jesse."

An alarm went off inside me, startling me out of my wits. I don't know if I was trying to be coy or if I was really that paranoid, but what came out of my mouth in response was: "An introduction doesn't exactly constitute friendship."

I was looking at him while I said it. So I was watching when surprised dawned on his incredibly beautiful features. But after awhile, he merely shrugged good-naturally. "You're right. Of course it doesn't. But I don't exactly prefer the name Hector. No one ever calls me that except for my parents."

"Right." I laughed weakly, mentally slapping myself. "I was, um, just saying. It didn't really mean anything."

I started walking again, wanting to get away from the totally unnecessary humiliation. I heard the wheels turning as Jesse followed behind me.

Nothing was spoken for a long time. I gathered he was probably regretting choosing a girl who reads that deeply into a freaking _introduction_ as his late night ride buddy. But, me… the silence was affecting me again. Without either of us saying anything, I was back to having my thoughts stuck on a certain Paul Slater.

I wasn't thinking of his words to me that he probably thought were all important. For God's sake, I was doing everything in my power _not_ to go back to those words that told the story of someone's views on me, Susannah Simon. I didn't think I was ready to analyze them yet.

Instead, I was once again caught up with the worry I had somehow mistaken him for perfect. That somehow, I spent more than one year convinced he was my version of Jesse Tuck. That he was Mr. Perfect, Mr. Right For me, Mr. Provider of Perfect Love.

Gina would say I was blinded by what I thought was perfect on the outside. All of a sudden, I wondered what the stranger beside me would say.

That thought scared me. I knew nothing about the guy except his name and that he came from California.

Even though small fragments of my thoughts were on him, it was still a surprise when I heard his voice, breaking the silence. "You want to talk about it?"

"Huh?"

"Something's bothering you, obviously," he said softly. I was amazed someone masculine like him managed to sound so _soothing_. "I know you hardly know me, but… I have a good ear. I always end up being the shoulder people cry on."

He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. I looked back at him. His expression was pure. His eyes were clear, not clouded with doubt or iniquity. His whole face was one that was, though handsome, trustful and lined with warmth.

And his eyes… I found it hard to believe black could be so see-through. But even though they held all the positive traits a friend could be thankful for, there was a spark in there that told me when forced or wrongly provoked, he wouldn't hesitate to fight to protect his dignity or anyone close to him.

Protector. Definitely among other things that I knew nothing about, he was a protector.

And, like he himself said, "a shoulder to cry on." I had no intentions of crying on his shoulder (even a broad and sturdy one like his), but it would be nice if someone listened to my troubles.

Besides, I didn't know the guy. I would never have to see him again. I could spill, he could listen and give me advice, and then we'd say bye bye and never talk to each other again in our life.

The thought of emptying the thick and confusing contents of my heart out was extremely appealing.

He was still looking at me when I glanced up to give him a reply. His face was totally earnest, the expression of someone who, no matter what I said, wasn't going to make fun of me. Someone who was going to take me seriously and treat me like a real friend.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself. Before I could have any second thoughts, I told him.

Not the WHOLE story. I gave an edited version, without my obsession over Tuck Everlasting and my lusting after Paul Slater for a year without knowing the true him. Basically, I gave him an outline of what happened tonight. I told him about wanting perfection, about wanting a perfect guy, about wanting a perfect love. I told him how I thought I had found Mr. Right, but now I didn't think he was so right anymore. I told him my disappointment as the guy I thought was perfect turned out to have huge imperfections after all. I told him my anger and hurt with an "terrible incident that occurred tonight that made me doubt him."

I told him every minute detail, leaving out what actually happened.

And when I was done, I was incredibly glad and relieved that I had spilled.

* * *

A/n- That's not the end to their conversation and the night walk/ride. But because my fingers wouldn't stop typing, I managed to spout out a chapter that's eight pages longer than it's supposed to be. And therefore, I had to leave out parts of this part and move it over to the next part. i.e. the second half of their conversation. 

And I am very, very sorry for the length of this. Like I said, my fingers have a mind of their own.

Please review. I would really like to know what you readers thought of this chapter, since I myself have mixed feelings with it. While writing it, half the time I thought about killing myself for the suckiness and the other half I just wanted to go to sleep (let's just say I finished very late at night).


	4. Diagrams and Positions

Replies:

**Strawberry-Shortcake01-** Um, Linds, newsflash. Suze can't be finally happy, because Jesse isn't in New York to stay. But obviously she WILL be happy. Eventually. I love puppies. _:sigh:_ Oh, and I love what you said about the rats. And the doorknob! And you!

**DarkenedStar-** HAHA! Evil $&#$. _:snorts:_ Very, very true. Yes, Jesse's alive. Among a thousand other things, that fact is different than in the books.

**Lisa-Beth-** Aw. You always make me blush. Oh gosh, I do have the story pretty much all planned out, but it's the length I can't control. Aaah. Teehee, I'm trying to portray Jesse as best as possible, but that's proving to be quite hard. The old-fashioned-ness I can do. And maybe nice and sweet. But the, uh, hottness? I have trouble there. LOL.

**BillThePonyLlama-** Of COURSE I read all that! I love long reviews. :) Besides, your hyper/witty/random remarks make me want to dance. And that's weird, since I suck more at dancing than I do at singing, and my voice can wake up the dead. But anyway… you're not a loser for having already bought your dress! Isn't that what Suze did too in Ninth Key? Oh darn. Can't remember. You're not mental. You sound perfectly sane to me. My words probably taste like toothpaste, since that's the only thing that touches my tongue these days. P.S. I'm not in the least sorry I hurt Elfie's feelings. If the writing thing doesn't work out for me (which it probably won't), I plan on being a psychologist/therpist. I'm sure Elfie would have more problems then, being short and small and possibly ugly and all… so just send him to me!

**Mrs. Nikki Slater-** I LOVE YOUR NEW NAME!

**UnangelicHalo-** Katty, I was planning on making Paul do something way crueler to that poor dog. But then the animal activist in me wouldn't let me write it. So I had to settle for that kick. :( I don't know if the door thing was suppose to be funny either… I can't write funny. When I try, it sounds like I'm overdosing on pencil shavings.

**blue x crush-** Well, um. _:smiles sheepishly:_ Never mind. Haha, Tuck Everlasting quotes… I guess they would make sense, since Suze is obsessed with it. _:snorts:_ I still have trouble believing that. I can't really imagine Suze being obsessed with that movie… (Oh, Linds is going to kill me…)

**Kimou-** Oh, don't worry, Jesse will be doing plenty of holding her later on. After, you know, she's all heartbroken over PAUL. :D Okay. I'm sorry for saying sorry. I actually like writing long chapters…

**Little Tinkerbell Girl-** Thank you, Tinky. But I think the emotion in this chapter sucks. I had a very strong urge to delete the whole thing. _:sigh:_ Aw, you're so sweet! You know, in the yearbook, I wasn't even voted "Most Likely to Write a Book." I was voted "Most Studious" and "Most Likely to Succeed." Pfft. That's basically the same thing, since in order to succeed, I need to write a book. _:rolls eyes:_

**Gen. Kenobi-** _:blinks:_ G.K., I never enter the contests on MCBC because unlike you, I have no self-confidence. And you were characterizing completely RIGHT. Suze IS more of a typical girl, since I'm sure no rockin' Suze Simon would be obsessed with Tuck Everlasting. _:snickers:_ But I can't portray Suze as she is in the books anyway, so I like it this way. :)

**Mysteriously Mystical-** Thank you:D Sure, I'll keep them long. I'm not capable of making them short anyway.

**Arianna Sunrise-** Haha, _frightening_? I can't write scary stuff to save my life. It always comes out sounding ridiculous. But yeah, Jesse's in! P.S. Kudos to your friend for dumping him, even if for the wrong reason.

**nebulia-** Well, I liked the fact you were yaying Paul! I mean, it's what I would've been doing. But yaying mommy rat was just weird... I can understand it if you were yaying her to kill her ingrate children... okay, KIDDING. Anyway, I love night people. Or two-in-the-morning-early people. :D

**Agent Spanish Sweetheart-** Aaaaah, I don't even know where to start. Replying to everything would take forever, and when I ramble, I sound downright deranged. (Wow, I made an alliteration! Go me.) So, I'll just say this: Thank you a BILLION times, ASS. Your review truly brightened my night. P.S. Suze took the rats to the animal shelter. P.P.S. Wow. I really made you feel ill? Aw! I'm so happy!

**ML-** Hi! Thank you. Instead of being typical and tell you to "read on to find out," I'll just answer your questions. Yes. And Yes.

**somerandom-** Thank you! That really made me feel good, since for some reason, I hate everything I write right now. I think it's summer-sadness...

**tokengirl-** Yeppers, Suze'll see Jesse in California when she moves there. I'm VERY excited about writing it, since if I write anything more of Paul hurting Suze, I think I'm going to throw up. _:grimaces:_

A/n- I say this every chapter. I do. And now I have to say it again:

This part turned out to be way too long, and I had to cut it in half.

_:sigh:_ And some changes have been made (again). This is no longer eight parts. It's now two parts. The first part is called **Paul Slater** and the second is **Jesse De Silva**. Those that used to be parts are now called chapters.

Right now, the estimate is around ten chapters, but I can't promise anything.

Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming. :)

* * *

Chapter 4: Diagrams and Positions

My voice, which had been one with the wind for at least five or ten minutes, died suddenly as I finished pouring my guts out. There was a moment of silence as Jesse digested my words. Or, rather, my speech. Glancing sideways at him, I saw an intent expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed together.

Unexpectedly, at that moment, a desire to smooth them back into their rightful places flooded into me.

But then, it was gone as quick as it came. I was back to looking at him again, at his frown as he thought about what I'd said.

"Susannah," he murmured after awhile, startling me. The frown disappeared, and I realized I had been obliviously staring at him for some time. I made some weird nasal voice and went, as composed as I could be, "What?"

"So let me get this straight," He cast a glance at me and then started to paddle faster. "You liked this guy for a year because you thought he was perfect. You were overjoyed when this quote perfect unquote guy showed interest in you and you two started dating. But from then on, he has done some things that made you doubt his loyalty, and now you think he might not be so perfect after all. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And why is it," he continued after nodding at my answer, "that you want him to be perfect?"

"Um," I said, thinking how obvious it is. "Because I want a perfect love. If the guy's perfect, then he has the ability to make _me_ feel perfect. And if I feel that we're both perfect… then that's when our love is perfect."

After I was done, I realized that my words didn't sound right. Instead of flowing together and making perfect sense, they sounded like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in the wrong order, or with some letters missing. Jesse looked at me strangely. I let out this nervous giggle, and mumbled, "it sounded better in my head."

I felt him smiling. His voice was gentle when he asked, "And why is that, Susannah? Why do you want a perfect love so much?"

Never before had I needed to explain that to anybody. No one who knew -which wasn't a lot, unless you think "one" is- questioned it. Ever since we entered our teenage years and started to notice boys, I'd always been this way: wanting that perfect guy, wanting to feel perfect, wanting to finally have that perfect love…

And because that's the way I'd always been, Gina thought nothing of it. She just assumed it was normal. That it was just how I was born like, what I was born thinking and believing.

So now, for the first time ever, someone was asking _why_. Why, exactly, I needed that perfect love so badly.

I should've felt weird about explaining my most innermost thoughts to a complete stranger. After all, I knew almost nothing about him, and vice versa. Here he was, asking the question with the answer that I'd never spoken out loud before. And true, the answer itself wasn't much of a secret. But still, it was about _me_.

But it wasn't weird. Nothing about it was. There was no tension in the air, no static in our electricity.

Everything felt normal and relaxed. _I_ didn't want to be the one to break that natural bond. _I_ didn't want to be that pair of scissors, cutting apart a picture perfect image. _I_ didn't want to be the sudden shake of an artist's hand, smearing and besmirching that once flawless painting. _I_ didn't want to be the one left to blame. _I _didn't want to mess up again by letting my insecurity stand in the way.

After taking a deep breath, I told him.

"Because, Jesse, everything in my life is a mess and it has been since the day I was born. My dad died when I was young, and my mom has blamed his death for every wrong thing that has happened to me since. I've been to the therapist's office countless times. Not because I truly have problems; but because my mother is convinced that just because I didn't -and still don't- have boys calling me day and night, that I'm a social pariah, that I don't do all the stuff regular girls do, I'm not normal. She thinks somewhere along the way, something went wrong with me. She thinks to this day, I'm still greatly shaken up over my father's death. She thinks I'm still not over it.

"The only thing she's right about is the fact I'm not normal. I haven't been since age two when I discovered something… out of the ordinary about me, I guess. I have this ability that prevents me from living a typical teenage life. I can't be like other girls and only worry about make-up, and fashion, and boys, or whatever. Most of my time is spent doing this so-called 'job' I have, which mainly consists of helping people I don't even know, much less care about. I don't want to do it. But like I said, I have to. I don't know how or why I was given this ability. But one thing's for sure: I don't want it."

I exhaled, and was ready to go on. "And so because-"

But at that same time, Jesse spoke up. "Are you speaking of-"

We both stopped. I stole a look at him, and was surprised to note that his cheeks were tinted redder than usual. The streetlight illuminated his face more, and I saw a dark lock of hair fall onto his features, covering the eyebrow with that mysterious scar.

"You go first," he said hurriedly. He struck me as someone who strongly agreed with the concept of "Ladies first," and I knew arguing with him would make no difference.

So I pushed my curiosity down and hedged forward.

"Anyway, so this 'gift' of mine took away any hope of me _ever_ having a normal life. All it has done is make my life miserable and a total mess. My mother is convinced I'm deranged, my father is dead, and my best friend… well, aside from the fact she doesn't understand why I'm always in trouble with the police, she's the only right thing in my life. Everything else is so far from how I want it to be.

"Because, you know, I couldn't plan my life. Every time I tried, something _always_ went wrong. I had absolutely no control over what happened. So, love. I thought that was one thing that can be right for me. I thought that that was the sole thing I have even the tiniest bit amount of power over. And I wanted my love to be utterly perfect."

The night air stood still as I paused to take a breath. All chirping of night birds and bugs had stopped. The rumble of the buses couldn't be heard anymore. All that was with Jesse and me was the moonlight, and the buildings and trees that light lit up.

It was a deserted and ugly street, but somehow, I felt like I was in one of those utopian places where I actually blended in with my surroundings. Where I actually belonged. Where I actually felt as if I wasn't the only abnormal girl out there, where there were others who were misunderstood, just like me.

"You have to understand" -I took a step closer to Jesse so there wasn't such a huge gap between us anymore- "I thought that if my life couldn't be perfect like that of a movie, my love life just _had_ to be. I mean, I didn't expect a simple and unrealistic love like those in Meg Ryan movies or whatever. I wanted more than to meet my other half. I wanted to truly feel the magic. I wanted to feel the spark every second I'm with the guy. I wanted the love to be undefeatable, to be unconquerable. I wanted it to 100 percent _perfect_."

I wanted it to be exactly like the love of Winnie and Jesse.

"Because everything else in my life is horribly, unbelievably, utterly WRONG," I concluded, playing with the strap on my purse. "I just wanted one part of it to be perfect: love."

I don't know what kind of response I was expecting from Jesse. I truly don't. All I know is, I expected _something_. An answer of some kind to show that he heard me, that he understood.

But I didn't get any sympathetic nod or considerate words. Instead, what I got was a matter-of-fact, cliché remark. What he said was: "The world isn't perfect, Susannah. Just like nothing in it is ever fair."

After I realized that he wasn't going to continue with any acknowledgment at all regarding my predicament, I said, trying not to sound too disappointed; "True. But that doesn't mean humans can't strive to be perfect. It doesn't mean that us humans can't try to be fair."

"Susannah-" He started to say, but I cut him off.

"All my life, I've heard again and again that nothing is perfect or some contingent of it. No one, with the possible exception of hopeless romantics, even believes that there _is_ someone out there that's perfect. I-"

Now it was Jesse's turn to interrupt me. I know he hated doing it; I know he really _had_ to say something, because otherwise he would never interrupt anyone, especially a girl. Someone with his manners just isn't capable of that.

"About what you said, Susannah." He even stopped paddling the bike. Putting his feet on the concrete ground to steady himself, he looked over at me. I felt the heat of his gaze boring into the back of my head, and I had no choice but to stop also.

"You said that some believes there actually is someone in this world that's perfect," He stated simply, his voice soft. "What you didn't say is that the person isn't necessarily all perfect. The person isn't filled with perfection to the bone. Not at all. That person out there is perfect for someone else. Neither of them need to be perfect. They just need to be perfect for _each other_."

I twirled a lock of my hair, something I only do when I'm really and truly upset. "I know that, Jesse," I said in answer. Instead of looking at him, I was then keeping my eyes focused on my bare feet. I couldn't meet his gaze, because I know what I would see in there if I did. "I know that. But don't you understand? I don't want _just_ a perfect love. I myself want to feel perfect too. And because I know I'm not perfect, I need a perfect someone who can make me feel that way. I need a man who has no imperfections."

This is when I made the mistake. This is when I couldn't help it anymore and lifted my eyes from my feet, up to the empty road ahead of us, and finally, finally to his face.

His _eyes_. And what it was that I saw in there.

Hurt. Hurt so deep and abysmal that it would've broken the heart of the coldest person on Earth.

As I looked on, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, Jesse got off the bike and walked over to me.

He stopped and left exactly one breath of air between us. In the back of my mind, I saw dimly, in slow motion, as he lifted his right hand. His fingers stopped on the very tip of my chin. After several seconds of heart-stopping uncertainty, he tilted my face up with his index and middle finger.

It was then that I got a better view into his eyes. His soul.

Two pools of black ink… two murky windows, suddenly clouded over with a single puff of winter breath. Suddenly closed over with a single sentence. Perhaps even a single word.

"Listen, Susannah." His voice was even quieter than before. The softness of it made my heart ache with a pang that I couldn't define just then. "Your Mr. Right… he doesn't have to be perfect. He _doesn't_. And you don't need to feel perfect to be perfect. In someone else's eyes, you may actually be perfect."

I started at his remark. My chin and his fingers lost their connection. Jesse recoiled; he drew back as if his touch could make me combust.

A part of me was sorry. Another part of me, a bigger part, did not care just then.

Because his words, his last words… they described me. Exactly. In my eyes, Paul Slater is perfect. Or used to be, anyway.

Without realizing it, Jesse had just managed to bring back memories of my infatuation with him. Memories of what had happened earlier tonight.

I couldn't help the feeling of bitterness that flew into me then.

"Can we just go?" I grumbled, starting to walk again.

I glanced back, and saw a frustrated Jesse running his hand through his hair. For a second, an image of me doing that jumped into my mind.

I pushed it to the farthest corner of my heart.

"What is your glitch, anyway?" I asked, referring to his surprising reaction to my wanting a perfect man.

He ignored me as he got back on his bicycle and started paddling ever so slowly again. It didn't look like he was going to answer me.

I have to admit, I was quite offended.

After some time, I found us sidling along in yet another silence. And this time, it bothered me.

When we reached an intersection, I had had enough. I was about to turn to him and demand an explanation when he at last spoke up.

"Just be glad" -His voice, I decided, would definitely take the pie for silkiest- "that you at least can choose for yourself, Susannah. At least the decision of who you can woo and marry is in your hands."

I blinked. I looked up at the red light, and then the walking sign across the street. Jesse wasn't moving, and I wasn't about to go on and leave him there.

"What do you mean?" I was thoroughly confused.

Once again, the guy decided to ignore me.

"How much longer is it to your apartment?" He asked me.

"Um." I was still puzzling over his words. "Well, when I started, I had already made a really long detour to the animal shelter. I guess there's still quite a way to go."

The appalled look that dawned on his face got me thinking.

"Hey, you don't have to walk me all the way home," I informed him. "I understand if you want to make your curfew or something. I've been on the streets of Brooklyn this late at night before. I'll be okay."

Jesse smiled uncomfortably. "I care more about your safety than my curfew, Susannah."

That was rather hard to believe. First of all, he hardly knew me. Second of all, I was kidding about the curfew thing. I didn't really think he had one.

"Hey," I said, as if overcame by a sudden stroke of genius. Which I didn't, of course. "If I ride on the handlebars and you actually paddle like a cyclist should, we'd be at my apartment in no time. I get home safely, and you'll get to yours on time. What about it?"

To say that he looked shocked at my suggestion would be a complete and total understatement. I mean, you would've thought I proposed that he make love with me or something.

"Or, if you would rather," I said, keeping my voice as bland as possible. "I could paddle, and you could ride on the handlebars."

Some nasal noise sounded from his throat. I smiled, and before he could gasp out a "no," stepped in front of his bike and jumped on.

"Am I blocking your vision?" I yelled, slouching down as much as possible.

"No…" Jesse sounded like he was one of those Victorian woman who fainted at the slightest ray of sunlight. Or maybe one with a tight corset. In any way, I thought he was going to pass out from the shock of a girl, in a dress, no less, jumping on his bicycle and demanding him to take her home like that.

"Jesse, hello?" I asked after a few seconds of waiting for him to start paddling. "You still frozen?"

A weak chuckle came from behind me. "You're really… you're seriously going to make me do this?"

"Of course!" I said, feigning surprise. "Jesse, if I'm too forward… if you're uncomfortable with this and would rather take two more hours of paddling along slower than a turtle as I trudge along in my blistered bare feet, then I would understand. I really would."

Yeah, right.

A sigh escaped his lips as he actually began to paddle. Slowly, at first, but after awhile, he gathered speed. I felt the wind blowing at my skin and flapping my hair, which had come undone long ago.

I felt the heat from Jesse as his head hovered above my slouched right shoulder. I don't know, but I think I could've imagined him saying, not exactly to my ear: "_Querida_, you are definitely something else."

* * *

The ride was probably was probably at least 15 minutes, or maybe 30. But when we arrived at my apartment, it seemed only 30 seconds had passed. 

Jesse stopped the bike slowly, and I jumped down, careful to grab hang on to my purse.

No one was outside, not even rapists or thieves or gang members. It was Jesse, me, and the streetlights, and a small wedge of moonlight that outlined his every part of his face.

I had no clue what to say. I didn't want to leave things off with an awkward good-bye, and wonder forever what would've happened if, to paraphrase Paul Slater, I ventured outside my shell and did something un-Suze Simon, like ask for his email address or something.

I wasn't even given the chance for that. Good thing too, since I probably would've chickened out.

Yeah, that's me. Too scared to even ask someone for a freakin' _email_.

"Do you" -his eyes were directly on me again. I found myself wishing he wouldn't do that. I could do without feeling hypnotized by two wells of black ink- "still love him? Even a tiny part of you?"

The question unnerved me. Because the truth is, I didn't know. I didn't know if I still loved Paul or not.

"No," I lied. It was partly on account of the fact that I thought he would think I was deranged for continuing to like a guy after all he'd done to me.

Not that I told Jesse that, of course. Some details -like the fact Paul ditched me and left me with no ride home- are better kept to oneself.

"You're lying," Jesse said simply. How he knew that, well, he was keeping that to _himself_. "You've been obsessed with him for one year, Susannah. It's impossible to suddenly stop liking someone you've been infatuated with for that long."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he went on. "You don't want to still like him, I know. But a fraction of you, how big or small it may be, still do."

I think I spewed some gargle noises that made no sense.

"Go inside, Susannah," he said, motioning to the door of the building. "It's late. Your mom could be worrying about you right now."

I did. I walked numbly to the door, yanked it open, but stopped when I realized I was going to enter without any parting words to him.

A car of some kind rumbled by as I looked at Jesse expectantly. He was studying me again, his eyes totally focused, unlike mine, which was probably glazed over.

"Susannah," He said in that soft voice of his. A loud pang interrupted my heartbeat as I realized never again was I going to hear my name from his lips.

That thought did something startling to my already cracked heart.

He said my name again. "Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay? Everyone makes mistakes. You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."

With that, he turned his bike around, got on, and paddled away. My foot still holding the door in place to prevent it from closing, I stared at his retreating back. It wasn't until I could no longer make him out anymore, it wasn't until every part of him disappeared downhill that I realized I forgot to think anymore about asking for his email address, much less do it.

* * *

The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. My mother tired to lure me up. Oh, she did. She baited with Chinese takeout for breakfast, then she baited with a trip to the mall. Finally, after several more tries, she just dropped a bomb with me there in my pjs, awake but feeling absolutely no desire to crawl out of bed. 

"Listen, Suze," She went, all friendly-sounding. "I'm flying to Carmel tomorrow. You would be coming with me, but as of now, they have no space left open at Robert Louis Stevenson or the Juniperro Mission Academy. So you have to stay here with Nana until a space opens up, okay?"

That got me up, right. I was all, "WHAT!"

I mean, my own mother could've told me sooner than the day before she has to leave that she was moving to another state all the way across the country. She did not have had to tell me at the last second.

But I love Nana, so I was fine with the arrangement. After some grumbling on my part, I started to pack up some essentials to take to Nana's.

It's a good thing Andy makes her happy. Otherwise, I would be feeling way more reproachful right now.

* * *

When I got to school on Monday, I was in a pretty good mood. I had decided to take Jesse's advice and give Paul another chance. 

Surely, if someone as rational as Jesse thought there could be more to Paul than all that he'd shown me so far, than there had to be.

Suddenly, my hopes of having found the right Jesse Tuck shot up again. I was reunited with that sensation, that feeling a love as strong as Jesse and Winnie's was right in front of me.

* * *

_You're the first human I've ever wanted to know the truth._

**_Jesse Tuck, you're the first human I've ever wanted to...to…_**

_:Kiss:_

_Do that._

_

* * *

_

Maybe I did something terrible in a past life. Maybe I murdered a baby, maybe I drowned kittens, maybe I was a prostitute.

Either way, karma had finally caught up with me.

All day, Paul Slater ignored me. He did not acknowledge me a single time, not even when we walked right by each other in the hall, not when I was right in front of his face as I entered English class.

Nuh-uh.

So when last period, French, rolled around, I was in a foul mood. I'd watched Kelly Prescott clinging to Paul like the Queen Bee to flowers, and Paul looking as if he did not mind in the least bit.

Moreover, Gina wasn't in this class with me. Therefore, I had no one to complain to about the fact Paul was giving me the cold shoulder for some reason, and that Kelly's constant battering eyelashes and blatant flirting was grossing me out, not to mention pissing me off.

When Mr. Clayton soon entered the room and announced that today, he was giving oral quizzes, my mood did not improve. Not in the least. My pronunciation of French words was not exactly one of the best out there.

Immediately after he left the room with the first five victims, the class started buzzing. The jocks were having a burping contest of some kind, the rebels at the back seemed to be in a discussion regarding admitting a new member to their gang, and the cheerleaders were all sitting on their desks, tossing their hair every other second like it would all cut itself off if they didn't.

Well, all except Debbie Mancuso, anyway. She was actually sitting at her desk, looking frantic as she stared down at a worksheet in bewilderment.

I was doodling on my binder when Debbie finally spoke up. She sounded really exasperated as she went, "You guys. You've taken health, right? What the hell does all these terms mean?"

And Kelly said, like she was on the most boring place on Earth; "What, Debs?"

"These health terms," she grumbled, snatching her worksheet up. I, along with the jocks, watched in fascination as she cleared her throat and started to read them out loud. "Just what exactly are the vas deferens, prostate gland, epididymis, scrotom, seminal vesicles, and cowpers gland?"

The cheerleaders and jocks, with the exception of Paul Slater, looked as clueless as Debbie. Me, I actually pay attention in health class, so I knew exactly what those terms meant. However, I wasn't in any hurry to explain to Debbie Mancuso with the whole class listening in.

I needn't have, anyway. Because just then, Paul Slater lifted himself off his chair and sashayed over to Debbie, his expression containing just a small hint of conceit and mockery.

Not that Debbie saw that. She probably was too stunned over the fact her best friend's crush was paying attention to her.

"Debbie, Debbie," Paul said as he reached her desk. He gave her a smile that would've melted my heart, if it'd been directly had me. But since it wasn't, since he didn't even glance in my direction, all I felt was this pang of jealousy.

And trepidation. I dreaded what he was going to do with every fiber of my being.

"Here, Debs," Paul grinned even broader at her and slowly led her out of her chair. Debbie looked like she was going to faint. Black out. Pass out. Keel over. Collapse.

I watch them walk over to the blackboard. I watch as a hideous glare made its way through every line of Kelly's face. I watched, too numb to say or do anything else, as Paul picked up a white chalk and began to stealthily draw on the board. First lines and curves. Then, actual shapes began to take place.

I know I should've looked away. I know I should've shrugged the whole thing off and went back to doodling a girl kicking butt in a Betsey Johnson miniskirt. But I couldn't. I couldn't tear my eyes off of Debbie, off of Paul, off of the abhorrent image gradually appearing on the blackboard.

So I was sitting there, feeling as if the winter snow had frozen my heart and wanting to leave the room, to get away from that whole image -Debbie, Paul, the picture in the background- when one of Paul's jock friend hooted. "Dude!" He said fatuously, pointing at a certain spot on the drawing. "That's, like, a penis!"

The cheerleaders all giggled in their stupid sly way, and Kelly gasped indignantly. But anyone could see she was just acting. Trying to get attention. I know for a fact that she could not care less if Paul started to draw a vagina too, along with the crude penis.

"Now, Debbie," Paul said, the smile beginning to look sickening now. "This is the male reproductive system. Those words you mentioned- they are all part of it."

Then he labeled the vas deferens, prostate gland, epididymis, scrotom, seminal vesicles, cowpers gland, and some parts that Debbie had failed to name.

"Yo, Slater," Another jock called out from somewhere near the front of the room. "That diagram isn't based on your own reproductive system, isn't it?"

And then he, along with his dumb jock friends, chortled like "HAHAHA, you've got to be kidding me." I guess they thought it was downright hilarious, since the penis was on the large side, and I guess to them, Paul's own penis wouldn't be the size of a fire hydrant.

Paul smiled at him, but instead of full of warmth and friendship, it was icy and challenging. "How do you know, Dopey?" he asked, his voice dangerously low but the smile still intact. "Have you seen it?"

This Dopey guy then turned an unnatural shade of crimson. His friends thumped him in the back as he muttered some stuff under his breath.

"Oh, you guys." Kelly spoke up and tossed her hair back with such vigor that I was surprised it didn't come tearing out. "Stop comparing the size of your dicks. Some of us really don't want to know."

She battered her eyelashes again at Paul and continued, pointing to that diagram on the board. "That drawing is enough for me, thanks."

The jocks then threw back their heads and laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd seen and heard since the day their head popped out of their own mother's vagina. The cheerleaders' imitation of a hyena then would've won them an Oscar for sure. The rest of the class looked on, all seeming to be utterly interested.

Like them, I was still watching Debbie and Paul, waiting to see what would happen next. But unlike them, I wasn't bubbling with interest and fascination.

At that moment, I really wished that certain Celine Dion song were true. I wanted wings. I wished love had indeed given them to me, and I could fly.

Not because I was brimming with happiness. Not because I wanted to soar up to Cloud Nine. But because I just wanted to fly away. To fly out of that room, so I would have no choice but to stop staring at something that should not have been created in the first place. So my eyes would no longer be glued to a man with so much physical and outer perfection, but be filled with such iniquity on the inside. A man whose core, whose heart, was not glimming gold.

"Okay, so," I heard Debbie say, trying to direct Paul and the rest of the guys' attention back to her. "All those terms describe the parts of the male reproductive system. Duh! Of course! Thanks for your help, Paul. I thought you _might_ know."

She said that last part in this pathetically coy way, and added a piercing giggle for effect.

To me, her voice sounded weird and out of sorts. I felt like I was on one end of the tunnel, she on the other end, calling in. Yet somehow, the words got lost as they traveled the distance from one point to another. And when they finally reached me, they were a distorted mess.

The tiring task of interpreting them from only breaths of air and jumbled letters to sentences that made sense resulted in another one of those ringing in my ears. This time, the ring didn't start, go on for awhile as I sat slumped over, and stop suddenly. No. This time, it started and steadily grew in volume until it was so loud, so deafening, that I was convinced any second, someone was going to wonder where it was coming from, glance in my direction, and find me hunched over in my seat, my hands balling into fists, shaking, doing all they could to not raise up to my ears and cover them. I was convinced that my eyes, though they were open, looked dead.

I _felt_ dead.

I felt like the earsplitting sound was going to penetrate my eardrum like no sharp needle or drill could.

I felt like the overpowering ring was going to pierce my heart too, after it was done with my ears.

I felt like a Greek Goddess's best friend. Except Debbie was no goddess, and I was most definitely not her best friend.

I felt like that armor girl in Heath Ledger's A Knight's Tale, never measuring up to the princess whom the knight was in love with, but only because of her title and outside beauty.

I felt like Paul Slater had shattered my cocoon, my world, all over again.

And I had no idea why, since this time, he wasn't making out with anyone. He wasn't kicking a poor dog. He wasn't giving me some malarkey about how he was this saint who was trying to guide woe-is-me out of my dreamland where I created all the characters and believed they were real.

He wasn't even acting as if he knew me, much less had shared saliva with me on more than one occasion.

And that's when it stopped. The ringing. I guess the anger I felt at his ignoring me, pretending I didn't exist after leading me on and taking me to Homecoming outweighed any of my loneliness and hurt at what he was doing.

I guess that's when I felt the urge to haul off and slug him.

"Suze? Hello? Are you all right?" A voice startled me out my fantasy of walking up to Paul Slater, and tore me out just before my fist connected with his jaw.

I looked up. Paul. _Paul Slater_, whom I was just envisioning not in the most refined manner, was staring at me. As our eyes locked, latched, and intertwined themselves together, I felt myself drowning in his gaze all over again.

The desire to hit him, to do anything to him but kiss him and run my fingers through that blonde threads of beauty, was knocked out of me before I could say, all groggily, "What?"

"I asked if you were all right." He didn't tear his gaze away, and I found out for the hundredth time what two circles outlining the Pacific Ocean could do to you.

"Right," I said, looking down at myself. My hands hung limply at my sides, and I saw with a single glance that they were covered with fingernail marks. My face, I realized as I touched it tentatively, was burning, and my hairline was brimming with beads of sweat.

"I'm okay," I assured again. Paul nodded and broke our connection, and I saw other pairs of eyes staring at me. Debbie's. Kelly's. The jocks'. And more, I felt, were boring into the back of my head.

When our eyes wandered, I realized something else. He, Paul, had asked me the same question before, on our first day, only hours before our first kiss.

"Suze? Hello, Suze?"

The only difference was back then, he was calling me out of a Jesse/Winnie fantasy. This time, my thoughts were as far away from their perfect love as they could get.

_How did things change so much, so fast?_ I pondered as Paul and his friends talked to Debbie some more. She looked like she had third-degree sunburn, her face was so red.

It wasn't all embarrassment, though. She was enjoying the attention.

"Paul," Now it was Debbie's turn to bat her eyelashes at him. I didn't have to look at Kelly to know she was fuming at the mouth. "What does 'incest' mean?"

She consulted her worksheet to make sure she got the word right.

This time, even Paul looked befuddled. As usual, no one else had a clue.

Except for me. I for a fact knew what it meant. I was just skeptical that the word was really on Debbie's worksheet.

There was moment of silence as all eyes trained on Paul. He looked so uncomfortable there, under all that spotlight, that I couldn't help but open my mouth.

"Incest," I said, trying to seem nonchalant to all the new eyes focused on me again. "is sexual intercourse between persons too closely related to marry legally. As in brothers and sisters."

Kelly let out a disgusted "ew" and the other cheerleaders fanned themselves with their hands. The jocks rolled their eyes and said some indistinguishable stuff to one another.

For some reason, I couldn't leave it there. "Haven't you guys heard that story about the incestuous twins last week? It wasn't on the front page or anything, but still. It was quite interesting."

It was again Kelly who remarked first. "TMI, Suze. We don't need to know about two persons sharing the same egg having sex with each other. Like, _gross_."

I ignored her and looked over at Paul. He shot me his trademark grin and then turned back to Debbie. For some reason, he kept gesturing and touching her sweater set.

Disappointment, like it had before, flooded into me.

Loneliness, like it had before, overtook a corner of my heart.

A patch of anger, like it had before, started to sizzle in my temples.

My eyes were on him as he turned back to the chalkboard and added another term to the diagram, drawing a line from it to the word to indicate what it was.

Testes.

"Man, testes," One of his jock friends said, scrutinizing the word. "Is that like, testicles or something?"

It felt like history was repeating itself as the jock part of the room erupted in laughter.

Their immaturity, added with Paul's patent desire to show Debbie every part of his privates, was seriously getting to me. My head was hurting like it was going to crack right open.

"Funny, you guys," I noted dryly, resting my chin on my knuckles. "What're you going to do next, demonstrate sex positions?"

My tone was dripped with sarcasm, but apparently that goes right by some people, if this Dopey guy's next words were any indication.

"Dude, that's such a dope idea!" He exclaimed, widening his eyes as if that thought was a stroke of genius. "Slater, you could, like, show her the 69!"

A girl who was sitting by the window, actually doing some homework, choked as she heard that. A few others looked appalled. Kelly looked like a ripe peach, ready to burst open.

Me… well, I was trying to seem indifferent to the guy's stupidity and inane suggestion.

Deep down, however, I was seriously scared of what Paul's answer was going to be. My fingers were actually shaking as I brought it up to my temples.

"Um," Debbie broke the silence with that one word. "What's the 69?"

All the cheerleaders and jocks looked at her like she was born in the same year as the cavemen. But Debbie honestly seemed bewildered.

"Oh, stop feigning innocence, Deborah," Kelly snapped, glaring at her best friend. "You know perfectly well what that is."

Debbie looked offended. "But I really don't!" She protested.

"Now, Kel," Dopey cut in before she could make another snazzy comeback. "If Debs here don't know what it is, then let's just let Paul show her, shall we?"

Kelly looked like she wanted to jump off her desk and deck this Dopey hard. But instead, she refrained herself from doing so and just said, "How about let's _not_" through VERY gritted teeth.

But surprisingly, all the guys ignored her and unsurprisingly, turned to Paul. He was merely standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.

I couldn't tell if what he was wearing was a grimace, grin, or smirk.

"Well, what do ya say, Slater?" A beefy-looking guy asked him with a repulsive smile. "You gonna show the virgin how it's done?"

Please God no, don't let him say yes…

I didn't realize I was praying until my eyes were closed and my fingers clasped. When I did deem how stupid it all was, how pretentious and fake those people were, I almost flew out of my seat.

I know it was impossible for them to demonstrate _anything_ in school right then. I knew it was all talk, and the most that would result was some making out and groping. But still, at that moment, I _hated_ Paul for not giving an answer already.

I loathed him for not saying "no" as quick as possible.

Like every feeling relevant to Paul, that hatred disappeared in a flash. As quick as it came.

Thank God Mr. Clayton opened the door just then, interrupting the lively "fun" Paul's friends were having. When he saw the diagram on the board, the poor man just about had a coronary.

A part of me was irked at him for letting Paul get away with not replying, for not letting me ever find out what he would've done.

Another part of me, a part only slightly bigger than that one, was glad Paul had not been given the chance to respond. Because I, as much as I don't want to admit, was scared to death of what his answer would've turned out to be.

* * *

When the final bell rang, everyone bolted out of his or her seats. Because I had been in the middle of an oral quiz, I was a bit late getting back into the classroom and packing up all my papers and notebooks. When I was done and was safely in the hallway, I was dismayed to note that almost everyone had went outside already. Only a few were still loitering, chatting and waiting for friends. 

I hastily walked along, and it was when I rounded my first corner that I saw it.

Kelly Prescott. Paul Slater.

Well, they weren't locked in a passionate embrace or groping each others' butt or anything. They were just talking in that flirtatiously way popular people talk.

I had a pretty good view of both of them since they were standing sideways to me. Kelly seemed to have calmed down after the occurrence in French class. She was touching Paul every other second. First his hair, then his face, then his shirt. It was sickening. Paul made it even more so by looking as if he was enjoying it.

I couldn't do anything but watch as Kelly edged herself closer and closer to Paul until their bodies were pressed as close together as peanut butter and jelly. Paul encouraged this by luring her with his look-at-what-Crest-White-strips-did-to-my-teeth smile. That, and the fact he was subtly, sultrily playing with a single strand of Kelly's permed, honey-blonde hair.

Kelly dug her fingers into Paul's strong shoulders. She shuffled her feet around and looked up at him with huge eyes full of longing. She inhaled deeply of Paul's scent and buried her hands into his shirt, itching to get closer.

This is where Paul decided to play coy. He pushed her away, provoking a pathetically wretched, pitifully wounded look to overtake Kelly's normally pretty features.

He didn't just drop it there and go. Instead, as a parting present to Kelly Prescott's raging teenage hormones, he decided to satisfy her fantasies. Just like, a seemingly long time ago, he decided to quench mine.

I was merely standing there, frozen on the spot, as I watched Paul take a step away from her. Then, as if on second thought, he turned back toward her and grinned in a way that could only be described as lewd.

Pretentiously, of course. Paul Slater is a good actor, after all.

Anyway. I wasn't holding onto anything, I was totally unprepared with what he was going to do. The fingers from his right hand slowly rose from their original position by his side and moved up, up, until it came to Kelly's breast. Her eyes -and mine- widened as his hand rested there for awhile.

Then, in a flash, he gave her nipple a quick pinch, and then traipsed away.

Not only that, his posture screamed nonchalance. Like nothing had happened. Like they just had a quick chat. Like he had merely pecked her goodbye or something equally absurd.

I felt the acid in my stomach stop its churning and slowly come up toward my throat. Halting its journey when it reached my tongue, it left a sour taste there. A taste so disgusting, so vile, that it was completely unlike any I'd encountered before.

I thought I was going to throw up.

Paul had already walked away and was already out of sight when Kelly finally came back to life. She, instead of looking downright offended like any other girl would have, seemed absolutely delighted.

When she spotted me, she didn't even question why I was there or if I was spying (which I wasn't). Instead, she bounced right over with her best cheerleading smile.

"Suze!" She exclaimed when she reached me. I was still too overcome with shock and couldn't move. Otherwise, I would've hightailed it outta there before Miss Infatuated noticed me.

But as it was, I couldn't just turn the other way and ignore her. That was simply rude.

So I stayed and pasted a fake smile on my face as she clapped her hands together and squealed.

"Guess what, Susie?" She gushed, bouncing up and down and being the perkiest cheerleader I'd ever seen. "I'm throwing a party! It'll be on the last day of winter vacation, so it would be like the last celebration before we're doomed to books and boring teachers once more."

She actually looked sad there for a minute, but after exactly one nanosecond, her expression brightened again.

"Anyway, Paul was telling me that you are moving to California soon. God, Susie, we're so going to miss you!" She gave me her best dejected, puppy-dog eyes. I didn't buy it, especially since she was using that awful nickname only my mom was allowed to use.

"So, of course I'm inviting you!" She continued when I didn't say anything. How could I? I still wanted to kick some sense into her for looking so blissful after a blatant act of sexism and obscenity, courtesy of the guy I had been obsessed with for more than one year.

Kelly went on. "It could be sorta like a going-away party for you too. Oh my gosh, Susie! We've all known you since kindergarten! It'll be so sad when you leave!"

I seriously doubted that.

"So," Kelly said, some of her delirium wearing out as I still refused to say anything. "You _are_ going to come, right? And bring your friend Gina if you must."

She tossed out the last remark as if she couldn't care less. But I knew she -and everyone else on the squad- did. Gina was ultra cool. She was beyond cheerleading cool. She was always invited to parties like these, but for some reason, she always chose to stay home with me and watch utterly sentimental movies like Tuck Everlasting.

"I don't think so, Kel," I said in reply to her first question, keeping my tone as impassive as possible. "I really don't enjoy watching people getting drunk and making out while I stand there and feel like the only sane soul in a horde of cliché, typical teenagers with nothing better to do than get wasted or stoned."

Her smile was starting to seem forced. "I can assure you there will be no illegal substances at the party. And we have special rooms for people who cannot control their unbridled hormones. So you don't have to worry."

I was still perplexed, not to mention not in the least interested. She could see that, I guess, since finally, she just threw her hands up and said, "At least think about it, all right, Simon?"

"Fine." I faked a smile at her and walked around her toward my locker.

I had no intention of going to her party. Especially not when I knew Paul Slater was going to be there. Especially not after the scenes I had witnessed in French class and the hallway. Especially not when I felt this disgusted, this _hurt_, and I knew, for the third time in one day, Mr. Perfect Paul Slater had managed to crumble my world with a single gust of air.

* * *

He called me at Nana's later that night. How he had known I was staying there, how he had gotten ahold of her number… well, that he wasn't telling me. 

"Suze." I was trying to catch the slightest hint of feeling in his voice, but all I was getting was a big fat nothing. He sounded like himself. Like Paul Slater, cool and unperturbed. "Listen, I'm really sorry about Saturday night. I didn't mean to just let you walk home by yourself. I hope you were okay. You did get home safely, didn't you?"

_Finally_ an emotion. Worry.

For a second, I mulled over the idea of telling him a rapist had tried to jump me, or that a gangsta had tried to brand me, or that a thief had tried to steal my purse and rip my dress off, but decided against it.

I didn't know yet if his intentions were _truly_ sincere. I had no idea all he had called to say. And for the time being, I chose to be hostile and gave as few details as possible.

"Yes," I answered, keeping my voice frosty. "I was fine. And so were the rats, by the way. The animal shelter volunteers were very nice and assured me they would be under the best care."

"That's great." He sounded like he didn't believe me. Why would he, anyway? He thought the fact that the babies were sucking their mother's blood dry was "interesting."

"So… I just want to say I'm sorry," he continued. "I'm sorry about Saturday, and I'm sorry about today in French."

My knuckles turned white as my grip on the phone tightened. His tone was too bland. Too suave. It was devoid of the deep emotional regret and sorrow a truly apologetic person would have. It lacked pain as abysmal as the core of the earth.

Furthermore, obviously he wasn't going to elaborate. He wasn't going to explain his feelings on the matter or the reasons he had done them.

"Sometimes, Paul, sorry just isn't enough."

Once upon a time, "sorry" would've been enough for me from him. Once upon a time, I was too in love with his physical perfections to look any deeper than his smile and his eyes. Once upon a time, I would've naively forgiven him without a second thought.

But this once upon a time didn't seem to have a happily ever after.

"I could've been seriously hurt on Saturday night, you know that?" All of a sudden, the ice cubes were gone from my voice, and I was fighting to keep back my tears. "You don't just leave a girl alone on a New York night and basically tell her to _walk_ home. And today… I can't believe you drew what you did on the board. Some might have been seriously offended. And the demonstrating positions part…"

I found that I had something stuck in my throat and couldn't go on anymore. I tried to gulp whatever it was down, but dots of the soreness of the taste came right back up.

"But Suze," Paul was saying into the phone. "You were the one who suggested that. You planted the seed for that 69 idea."

"Yeah, but Paul," I tried a laugh and it, too, got stuck somewhere in my trachea. "I was being _sarcastic_. It was my way of telling you guys to get a grip."

There was a pause, then: "Well, those guys aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer. They get wild ideas from suggestions of that sort. I would advise you to stick to a moral topic next time you're in conversation with them."

I snorted. The chance of a next time was slim to none.

"So, anyway, Suze…" Paul's tone was soft again. Gentle and lulling, like a lullaby. I pressed the phone harder against my ear and bit my upper lip, thinking how unfair it was that even when I couldn't see his face or his eyes, he still could mesmerize me with his _voice_. "I am sorry. I'm more sorrier than I've ever been in my life. I screwed up big time on Saturday, and then today. All I'm asking right now is for you to understand, to forgive me, and to give me a second chance. Do you think you could do that, Suze? Do you?"

Each and every one of his words decreased in volume as they neared the end of Paul's apology, so his last two _"do you"_ was barely louder than a genuine whisper. I had to stop breathing completely to hear it.

When he was finished, I was free to inhale and exhale normally again. But of course, I couldn't. The softness of his tone and the gentleness of his words affected me like everything of his did.

My breath was coming out in small gasps and I thought I was hyperventilating.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Suze," He went on, oblivious to the fact I was having trouble breathing on the other end. "Hell, I've made more than I can count. Especially in front of you. But I am really, truly, genuinely sorry for all the crap I've done. I want a second chance. I promise I won't let you down."

My head was still feeling a tiny bit woozy, but at least it didn't feel like I was having an asthma attack anymore.

When I regained my composure and fully digested what he said, I was reminded of Jesse.

Midnight walk/ride buddy Jesse. Jesse, with his ebony eyes and old-fashioned ways. Jesse, with his silky voice and last-minute advice.

What was it he had said?

"Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay? Everyone makes mistakes. You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."

I sighed. Before I opened my mouth, I knew what I was going to say. I knew that for the umpteenth time, Paul's enthralling voice and an image of his baby blues had won me over.

"All right, Paul." Another sigh escaped my pale, wayward lips. "What do you want to do? Or what do you want me to do?"

At the other side of Brooklyn, I felt a smile tugging at the upper corners of his mouth as he realized he had won again and managed to dodge another interrogation of his true feelings and motives. His tone was full of dry humor as he told me his request.

"I want you to go to Kelly's party."

* * *

While lying in bed much, much later, I wondered about it. I wondered why I was letting Paul Slater do this to me, why I was still letting him play me and string me along like a puppet. 

Why, after all this time, after all he'd done to me, I was still letting him deal all the cards.

Why, even though I knew he isn't any reflection of perfection, I was still wasting my time with him.

Why I was still so sensitive to his needs when he could give a fuck about mine.

Why I was letting my guard down every time I was near him and letting him manipulate and take advantage of me.

Why I was still letting him persuade me with smooth words and a pair of beautiful eyes that he was _born_ with.

Why his voice, his eyes, even his _hair_, was still affecting me the way they had before my eyes were opened up to the rotten side of him.

Why I still couldn't get past his outer charm and splendor and get in deeper into the core of his real soul.

The clincher was _why_ exactly I was letting him destroy me.

Devour me.

Showers and droplets of coldness fell on me as I realized I no longer had my heart.

From that first day several months ago, when he'd stolen it, all he'd done is stomp and tramp on it. He did not take care of it and treat it like something precious. Instead, like a kid would deal with his old toys, Paul Slater had thrown my heart into a trunk in his attic somewhere, taking it out occasionally to twist and abuse it, making it even more broken than it originally was, until finally, it either becomes so worn out and torn that it's been molded into an unrecognizable shape, or it shatters into pieces even smaller than tiny shards of glass and more numerous than all the stars painted in the night sky.

Because he had my heart, he had every other piece of me.

There was nothing I could do except try to get it back, or try to grow a new heart.

Ropes and knots wrapped itself around my stomach as I tried to trace all the days Paul had deceived me.

As I lay there, in a bed that wasn't mine, in a room that was unfamiliar, I knew all my stress and all the new pain and hurt I was feeling was caused by him. It was his doing. It was my _undoing_.

It was his fault that right then, I felt like I was a giant rubber band, being pulled farther and farther back until it was going to either break to snap.

And decision day, I knew, was the night of Kelly's party.

There was one thing I had control over right then. If I didn't go, I wouldn't have to face him. Floods and jumbles of all of my mixed up emotions wouldn't bother me. The pain wouldn't be so great.

The image of one day, just _one_ day without feeling as if there was a butcher knife stuck on my heart somewhere, without feeling like I was an empty vessel without a soul, without feeling like I was a small and fragile butterfly in the face of a cruel and heartless winter blizzard was what convinced me.

I wasn't going to go.

* * *

Angus Tuck: Don't be afraid of death, Winnie. Be afraid of the unlived life.

* * *

Tuesday morning, a deep fear was bred in my stomach. As the day progressed, it climbed higher and higher until it was smack in the middle of my chest. It stopped there. Instead of continuing to rise into my throat, into my mouth, and out of my life, it chose to stay in the place where my heart once was.

Which I gaze into every other second, looking for what wasn't there anymore.

The fear bothered. It scared me, even. How you can be scared of something you're already scared of, that I don't know. What I do know is I had to do something about it.

Watching Tuck Everlasting (_again_) opened my eyes to that fear. It made me realize that if I continue to live my life as if excitement was just around the corner, I was going to get nowhere. If I continue to sit, wait, and wish all day for something to happen, then nothing was.

Much as I was scared of death, much as I was scared of being stuck for all eternity in heaven or hell or some place unimaginable, I feared an unlived life more.

I feared dying before I lived my life to the fullest.

In the wise words of Angus Tuck, the right thing to be scared of is an unlived life.

I knew I couldn't sit around and wait for excitement to knock on my door anymore. I was going to have to visit it every chance I get.

And that included going to Kelly Prescott's party.

Believe me, I didn't want to. I did not want to be stuck in a room full of idiots who thought the only thing life had to offer was booze and sex. I did not want to be in the same house as Paul Slater and let him tear my insides apart all over again.

But in the morning, my spirits are higher. My hopes and faith rise. That morning, I felt lighthearted.

I was convinced if I stay out of his way there, I could forget about him.

And besides, I believed Angus. When he spoke those words to Winnie, it was as if he was talking to me too.

Talking to my flamed soul.

And I knew: I had to go.

* * *

"What's up, Simon?" Gina said as she came out of her building and saw me standing there, hands in my pockets, waiting for her. 

I got right to the point. "You heard about Kelly's party, right?"

She snorted. "Oh yeah. She invited me."

"Well…" We started walking toward the school, and for whatever reason, my strides today was way longer than usual. "She asked me to come too."

Surprise dawned on Gina's features, but she didn't say anything about her shock that Kelly invited the class freak. "But you're not planning on going, right?" Gina asked, striving to keep up with me in her three-inch heels. "I mean, who would want to waste a night away by being in the company of Kelly Prescott and her imbecilic cronies?"

"Um," I said.

"I mean, come on. What's to do there? Make conversation with people who don't even know the number of brain cells they have? Watch people sticking their hands down each others' pants on the sofa? Look on as idiots grind against each other on her living room dance floor? Or, here's a thought: blend in with the walls and wish you never came."

She was joking, of course. After it, she threw back her head and laughed a genuine laugh.

I didn't say anything. Without Gina there, I was nothing. Just vapor. No one was going to pay attention to me at all.

Without her, I didn't have the nerve to go.

If I actually do go without her, then she would be right about one thing; I most definitely was going to disappear into the wallpaper and spend the night wishing I had stayed home and watched The Notebook with her.

I couldn't go alone, especially since my best friend obviously thought the party was made for nincompoops. I couldn't do it.

* * *

For the rest of the walk to the school, I listened as Gina chatted about how evil her brothers were. I nodded and laughed at the right places and talked to her like I did every day. 

But inside, I was dying. I was like a flower that hadn't been watered in a week and was slowly withering away into nothingness.

When we finally arrived at our lockers, the first thing I saw was Kelly Prescott, talking to Debbie Mancuso, all the while tossing her hair, rolling her eyes, and batting her eyelashes at any hot guys that happened to pass them by.

And then I saw Paul, grinning, walking into the building with his friends.

All the pain from last night flooded back. I was enveloped with the memory of me, pulling the covers up to cover my face, trying to block out the images of him kissing Kelly Prescott, of him kicking the dog, of him drawing that diagram, of his fingers on Kelly's nipple.

And then, his words as gave me a piece of his mind on how "fake" he seemed to think I was. Then his voice as he refused to take me home, his expression as he watched me walk away.

_But there were good times too,_ I thought hazily._ That kiss…_

Someone who can kiss that good, someone who, even if it was only once, could make me feel perfect with a single touch, the sole person who reminded me of Jesse Tuck…

…He deserves a second chance.

"Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay?"

The bell rang, and Gina tossed a "bye" to me as she glided to her homeroom. People in the hallways started to leave their lockers and walk in different directions to their classes. I lost sight of Paul as bodies, mounds of nugatory flesh, positioned themselves between us.

"Everyone makes mistakes."

I was dimly aware of the fact I had merely been standing there, unmoving, when gradually, the mass of people started to dissipate. I could make out Paul Slater again. As if by fate, he looked up just then, straight into my eyes.

First a smile… then a wave.

My heartbeat increased, and my palm felt acutely sweaty as I watched him traipse off to class.

"You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."

My eyes on his retreating back, something wobbled in my throat.

Jesse was right. Despite all, a part of me _still_ loved him. Not because I wanted to. But because I had already fallen in too deep.

And I definitely owed Jesse something. In all sixteen years of my life, no one -with the exception of my mother and Gina- would have done what he did for me that night. No one but him would have volunteered to accompany a mere stranger home. No one _should_ worry that much over someone he just met. But Jesse did. He saw to it that I arrived safely home.

When I was, he advised me of something. He made a request.

I owed it to him, and my runaway heart, to oblige.

I spun around, and was relieved to see that Kelly was still at her locker, applying lip gloss.

Hastily, I walked over to her, keeping my facial expression blank.

"Hey," I said.

"Oh, Suze! Hi!" She said when she saw me. Quickly, she capped the gloss, tossed her honey-blonde hair, and gave me her full attention.

"So, have you decided?" She asked, smiling innocently at me.

"Yeah." I gulped down the last of my hesitation and plunged on. "I'll go."

At this, the innocence in her smile disappeared. Replacing it was a crooked grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Her tone was devious and scheming as she gave the last word.

"Perfect."

* * *

A/n- Suze changed her mind five times. HAHAHA. 

And yes, that happened for a reason.

Now, please review. :D


	5. Author's Note please read

Hey all!

Anyway, long time no see… it was, what, eight months? Well, whatever. I'll get to the point.

I'm thinking of pursuing this story, since I've got several pages of the next chapter saved on my computer that I can build on. That I wrote last summer.

However, I don't want to waste my or your time. The last time I updated a story after seven months of letting it rot, I lost all my old reviewers. Basically all old readers forgot what the story was about and didn't bother to read the update.

So, just wondering: does anyone of you remember anything _at all_ about this story? Or if you don't, would you be bothered to skim through it again and read new updates? If you don't leave me a note/review here, I'll take it to mean that the answer is no and you'd rather me drop dead. But that's okay, because then I'll just move on to other projects, i.e. possibly another Mediator fanfic that I'll actually try to finish.

Please leave your thoughts. :D

Thanks,

_Lil _


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